A    SPLENDID    SIN 


A  Splendid  Sin 


BY 


GRANT   ALLEN 

Author  of  "The  Woman  Who  Did,"  "  What's  Bred  in  the  Bone," 


etc. 


NEW  YORK 
F.    M.    BUCKLES   &   COMPANY 

9-U    EAST   l6th    STREET 

LONDON  ~  F.  V.  WHITE  &  CO., 
1899 


Copyright,  1899 
by 

P.  M.  BUCKLES  &  COMPANY 


A   splendid  Sin 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

THE   BLACK   EAGLE *^°^ 

7 

CHAPTER  II. 

A   FLORENTINE   NOBLEMAN 21 

CHAPTER  III. 

ENTER  HUBERT 

• 4* 

CHAPTER  IV. 

AN   OFFICER  AND  A   GENTLEMAN ^- 

CHAPTER  V. 

love's  philosophy 

74 

CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   philosophy  OF   LOVE ,  . .  . .  qi 

CHAPTER  VII. 

MATRIMONIAL   BUSINESS ,^ 

109 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

AN    UNEXPECTED   INTERVIEW j  jg 

CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  COLONEL    SCORES j 

CHAPTER  X. 
REACTION 

^3$ 


Vi      •  CONTENTS.  ' 

CHAPTER  XL 

THE   ENGLISH   FOR    FEDE 'J°5 

CHAPTER  Xn. 

THE  POINT   OF   VIEW jg- 

CHAPTER  Xni. 

A   GREAT    CONFESSION ,3j 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

COLONEL   EGREMONT   SEES   HIS  WAY igi 

CHAPTER   XV. 

AND    FEDE? 

20I 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  COLONEL'S   PLANS 2o8 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

AT   MILWORTH   MANOR 2IQ 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

PRIVATE  INQUIRY 21© 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
VICTORY ! 242 

CHAPTER  XX. 

HIS  TRAFALGAR 260 


A  SPLENDID  SIN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  BLACK  EAGLE. 

*'  It's  a  lovely  view,"  Mrs.  Egremont  said, 
with  her  eyes  on  the  Himmelberg. 

Sir  Emilius  Rawson  looked  up  sharply  and 
surveyed  it  in  a  critical  mood  'hrough  his 
glasses.  He  did  not  wish  to  commit  himself. 
He  gave  the  scene  a  searching  glance,  as  if  it 
were  a  doubtful  patient,  before  he  ventured 
upon  his  diagnosis.  "  Yes,  it  is  a  lovely  view," 
he  admitted  at  last,  after  scanning  it  all  over. 
He  made  the  admission  with  an  air  of  curious 
candor,  begotten  of  the  habit  of  seldom  grant- 
ing anything,  lest  he  should  afterwards  be  con- 
victed of  possible  error.  **  It  is  a  lovely  view  !  " 
And  he  peered  up  and  down,  like  one  who  ex- 
pects to  find  some  dangerous  symptom  lurking 
unobserved  in  some  obscure  corner. 

Not  that  Sir  Emilius  was  the  least  interested 
in  the  view ;  he  had  seen  it  before,  and  knew 
it  thoroughly.  But  it  was  an  instinct  with  him 
7 


8  A  Splendid  Sin. 

to  look  everything  steadily  in  the  face  for  a 
minute  or  two  before  plunging  into  even  the 
most  casual  opinion.  Use  had  made  it  in  him 
a  second  nature.  You  had  only  to  look,  in- 
deed, at  Sir  Emilius's  close-shaven  face  and 
preoccupied  eyes  in  order  to  recognize  at  a 
glance  the  fact  that  he  was  a  great  London 
consulting  physician.  All  big  doctors  acquire 
at  last  that  preoccupied  air  ;  it  grows  out  of 
their  profession  ;  they  pretend  to  be  listening 
to  their  patient's  recital  of  unimportant  details, 
while  they  are  really  employed  in  looking  be- 
hind his  words  and  the  mask  of  his  face  at 
such  signs  of  constitution,  disease,  or  tempera- 
ment as  his  build  and  features  may  chance  to 
indicate.  Sir  Emilius  was  bland,  like  all  his 
class  ;  without  blandness  of  manner  and  a  def- 
erential smile,  you  cannot  succeed  in  medicine. 
But  even  while  he  folded  his  scrupulously 
white  hands  in  front  of  him,  fingers  touching 
and  thumbs  upright,  with  an  external  appear- 
ance of  the  profoundest  interest  in  his  patient's 
life-history  (from  measles  and  scarlatina  on- 
ward), he  was  inwardly  engaged  in  observing 
to  himself,  **  Strumous  type  ;  gouty  diathesis  : 
a  large  eater,  a  constant  drinker  of  just  a  couple 
of  glasses  more  wine  than  is  good  for  him. 
General  habit  of  body  indicates  the  Carlsbad 
treatment.  Prominent  eyes — a  loquacious 
talker  ;  may  as  well  make  up  my  mind  to  half- 
an-hour   of  him.— Quite  so  ;  I  follow  you  ;  it 


The  Black  Eagle.  9 

is  one  of  the  well-known  sequelae  of  influenza. 
— Wish  he'd  come  to  the  point.  I  can  see 
beforehand  it's  premonitory  symptoms  of 
Bright's  disease — and  the  fellow'll  waste  twenty 
minutes  of  my  precious  time  before  he  even 
arrives  at  it  !  " 

For  Sir  Emilius  was  famous  among  men  of 
his  profession  for  his  rapid  and  almost  intuitive 
diagnosis  ;  no  doubt  it  was  partly  the  promp- 
titude with  which  he  could  read  other  men's 
faces  that  gave  his  own  that  abiding  look  of 
preoccupied  boredom.  For  it  is  hard,  of 
course,  to  assume  an  air  of  interest  in  a  story 
whose  parallel  you  have  heard  ten  thousand 
times  before,  and  every  detail  of  which  you 
could  supply  by  anticipation  ;  yet,  if  you  make 
a  large  income  by  pretending  to  listen  to  it, 
you  must  needs  acquire  a  professional  ap- 
pearance of  intelligent  sympathy  with  every 
fresh  narrator  who  unfolds  his  w^oes  to  you. 

'*  When  a  lady  of  a  certain  age  comes  into 
my  consulting-room,  settles  herself  comfortably 
down,  and  begins  by  saying,  'Doctor,  I  am 
the  mother  of  fourteen  children,'  Sir  Emilius 
used  often  to  remark  in  the  privacy  of  family 
life,  "I  lean  back  in  my  armchair,  fold  my 
hands  on  my  bosom,  and  close  my  eyes  with  a 
mechanical  smile  of  gentle  attention.  For  I 
know  I  shall  have  to  listen  to  a  full  account  of 
how  all  those  fourteen  children  were,  jointly 
and  severally,  brought  into  the  world,  as  well 


10  A  Splendid  Sin. 

as  to  everything  that  has  happened  to  their 
mother  in  connection  with  each  one  of  them. 
I  lose  consciousness  for  a  moment  in  a  placid 
doze,  from  which  I  awake  automatically  the 
moment  she  says,  'And  now,  doctor,  I  come 
to  rny  fourteenth.'  Then  I  know  I  may, 
perhaps,  at  last  begin  to  hear  why  she  wants 
to  consult  me." 

So  now.  Sir  Emilius  gazed  around  him  sus- 
piciously at  the  pines  and  the  mountains  be- 
fore he  ventured  at  last  on  the  non-committing 
remark,  "  It  is  a  fine  view,  I  admit,  Julia." 

They  were  seated  on  an  obtrusively  rustic 
bench  outside  the  Black  Eagle  Hotel  in  the 
Rothenthal.  Sir  Emilius  was  tall,  broad- 
shouldered,  a  somewhat  massive  figure — one  of 
those  immaculate  English  gentlemen  whose 
most  salient  feature  appears  to  be  that  they  tub 
every  morning.  He  had  a  close-shaven  face, 
clear-cut  features,  and  an  expression  that  sum- 
med up  the  College  of  Physicians.  No  man, 
indeed,  was  ever  quite  so  wise  as  Sir  Emilius 
Rawson  looked.  He  had  that  studied  air  of 
preternatural  sagacity  which  comes  only  from 
the  assiduous  employment  of  years  in  im- 
pressing your  own  superior  knowledge  a^nd 
skill  upon  many  thousand  patients.  When  he 
put  his  hand  to  his  chin,  and  drew  it  slowly 
downward,  you  felt  that  he  was  bringing  a 
gigantic  intellect  to  bear  upon  the  elements 
of  some   most   difficult    problem ;  when    he 


The  Black  Eagle.  ii 

puckered  his  forehead  and  gazed  hard  at  you 
through  his  eyeglasses,  you  realized  that  the 
Rontgen  rays  themselves  could  not  spy  out 
more  than  he  did  of  your  internal  skeleton. 

His  half-sister,  who  sat  beside  him,  was  of 
different  mold.  Her  air  was  shrinking.  Sir 
Emilius,  who  was  above  everything  physio- 
logical and  modern,  accounted  for  their  un- 
likeness  by  the  racial  traits  of  their  respective 
fathers.  His  own  father,  Dr.  Rawsonof  Ipswich, 
was  a  burly  East  Anglian  who  had  died  when 
Emilius  was  a  boy  of  twelve,  leaving  his  widow 
not  very  well  provided  for.  But  Mrs.  Egre- 
mont's  father,  whom  their  mother  had  married 
in  her  second  trial  of  matrimony,  was  a  De- 
vonshire squire,  endowed  with  the  soft  and 
gentle  Devonian  nature  ;  he  had  been  com- 
pletely overshadowed  during  his  married  life 
by  the  cleverness  and  energy  of  the  woman 
he  had  chosen.  It  was  from  him,  Sir  Emilius 
thought,  that  Julia  inherited  her  more  delicate 
characteristics.  And,  indeed,  Mrs.  Egremont 
had  a  slender  figure  and  sensitive  face,  deeply 
marked  with  the  beauty  of  some  great  sorrow. 
She  was  still  young,  as  women  count  youth 
nowadays — scarcely  more  than  forty,  and  her 
features  were  daintily  refined  and  sympathetic. 
She  was  one  of  those  tall  and  graceful  women 
who  attract  one  at  first  sight  by  the  moral 
qualities  visible  in  their  faces,  and  of  whom 
one  says  at  once,  "  There  is  a  good  woman  !  " 


12  A  Splendid  Sin. 

Mrs.  Egremont  raised  her  large  eyes  slowly 
towards  the  peak  of  the  Rothspitze.  "Hubert 
ought  to  be  coming  back,"  she  murmured  anx- 
iously. "  He  said  it  was  only  a  six  hours' 
expedition,  and  he's  been  gone  over  seven." 

Sir  Emilius  lighted  a  cigarette— he  allowed 
himself  the  luxury  of  a  cigarette  in  public  at 
more  than  fifty  miles  from  London.  "  Expe- 
ditions invariably  take  longer  than  one  thinks," 
he  answered,  in  a  somewhat  unconcerned  voice. 
"  Add  twenty  per  cent,  to  Baedeker's  estimate, 
and  you  get  the  fair  average.  Besides,  Hubert 
took  his  camera  with  him,  didn't  he  ?" 

**Hedid,"  Mrs.  Egremont  answered.  "That, 
of  course,  would  delay  him.  Still,  I  just  hate 
this  mountain  climbing  for  him.  I  hope,  when 
he  marries,  Fede  will  make  him  promise  to 
give  it  up.  It's  so  horribly  dangerous !  I 
watched  him  through  my  field-glasses  for  an 
hour  yesterday,  clambering  up  that  bare  brown 
face  of  rock  on  the  side  of  the  Eselstein,  and 
it  made  me  giddy  to  look  at  him.  I  assure 
you,  Mill,  there  wasn't  a  foothold  anywhere. 
He  seemed  to  me  to  cling  by  his  eyebrows." 

"  These  perpendicular  cliffs  are  never  quite 
so  steep  as  they  look  from  a  distance,"  Sir 
Emilius  went  on,  calmly.  "  Never — or  seldom." 
It  was  his  habit  to  hedge,  lest  he  should  too 
rashly  have  committed  himself  ;  for  a  doctor 
must  always  abstain  from  giving  an  absolute 
opinion  ;  "  never  to  prophesy  unless  you  know," 


The  Black  Eagle.  13 

IS  the  wisdom  of  the  profession.  "  When  you 
get  at  close  quarters  with  them,  you  hnd  them 
diversified  by  little  inequalities  of  surface  which 
enable  you  to  climb  ;  here,  a  jutting  ledge  ; 
there  an  inconspicuous  crack  ;  yonder  again,  a 
bush  that  springs  from  a  cranny  by  whose  aid 
you  can  prise  yourself  up.  Hubert's  all  right  ; 
he's  as  safe  a  climber  as  any  I  ever  saw.  He 
has  arms  and  legs  exactly  adapted  for  the 
work  of  mountaineering.  If  you  notice  the 
muscles  of  his  tl^umbs  and  wrists,  you'll  see  at 
once—" 

*'  Oh,  what's  that  ^peck  on  the  wall  of  ':ock  ?" 
Mrs.  Egremont  cried,  leaning  forward,  and  lift- 
ing her  field-glass  hurriedly: 

"  A  goat  !  "  Sir  Emilius  answered,  surveying 
it  through  his  own.  "A  most  unmitigated 
goat  ! — unless,  indeed,  it's  a  chamois.  And 
the  chamois,  I  believe,  is  a  mythical  beast,  like 
gorgons  and  hydras  and  chimeras  dire — a  mere 
playful  figment  of  the  Swiss  imagination.  He 
exists,  if  at  all,  in  order  that  the  Swiss  may  carve 
him  in  wood  during  the  depths  of  winter,  to 
sell  at  an  extravagant  price  to  Cockney  tourists 
in  the  following  season.  That's  the  worst,  Julia, 
of  you  hens  w4th  one  chicken.  You  can't  be 
philosophical.  Boystt'///  be  boys  ;  and  Hubert 
is  at  the  age  when  the  desire  to  climb  heredi- 
tarily manifest  itself.  'Tis  a  survival  from 
monkeydom.  My  old  enemy,  the  mother  of 
fourteen,  now,  has  the  advantage  of  you  there. 


14  A  Splendid  Sin. 

She  is  calm  and  collected.  Calmness,  in  fact, 
is  her  prevailing  characteristic.  She  tends,  as 
a  rule,  to  be  large  and  placid.  She  runs  natur- 
ally to  fat,  just  as  she  runs  to  infants  ;— a  super- 
abundance of  the  assimilative  and  accumulative 
tendencies.  When  I  see  her  sailing  under 
twenty  yards  of  black  silk  into  my  room  in 
Harley  Street,  I  sum  her  up  at  once.  *  My 
dear  madam,'  I  say  mentally,  'you  are  a  mother 
of  fourteeen.  You  have  buried  three,  and  you 
have  survived  those  shocks  with  matronly 
quietude.  Your  boys  are  abroad  in  the  world 
— Matabeleland,  Texas,  Manitoba,  Trinidad — 
and  they  give  you  no  anxiety.  You  are  aware 
that  they  break  their  heads  ;  and  that  heads 
can  be  mended.  You  know  they  get  into 
scrapes  ;  and  that  scrapes  are  things  which 
young  fellows  crawl  out  of  as  easily  as  they  fall 
into  them.  You  recognize  the  fact  that  they 
will  marry  horrid  creatures  ;  and  that,  by  the 
end  of  six  months,  you  and  the  horrid  creature 
will  be  the  best  of  friends,  having  mutually 
arrived  at  a  modus  vivendiy  based  upon  the 
principle  of  an  armed  neutrality.  You  sleep 
o'  nights  and  you  lay  on  fat  still,  no  matter  what 
happens  to  you.'  Whereas,  you,  Julia — you, 
if  your  bo)^  has  gone  one  hour  longer  than  he 
says,  you  grow  visibly  thin  to  the  naked  eye 
under  the  stress  of  your  terrors.  Why,  you 
have  crows'  feet  gathering  round  your  eyes  this 
very  moment.     Too  anxious  a  temperament, 


The  Black  Eagle.  15 

my  dear  ;  too  anxious  a  temperament  !  You 
can't  expect  to  keep  a  young  man  of  twenty- 
two  tied  to  your  apron-string." 

"I  don't  want  to  do  that,"  Mrs.  Egremont 
answered,  flushing.  "  I'm  sure,  Emilius,  I've 
allowed  him  to  go  to  Oxford,  and  to  row  and 
swim,  and  to  take  to  anatomy,  and  everything 
of  that  sort  ;  but  this  mountain  climbing,  you 
know,  is  so  very  different.  And  even  in  that 
I  don't  oppose  him  ;  I  try  not  to  let  him  see  how 
much  it  frightens  me.  I  never  once  say  to 
him,  '  I  wouldn't,  if  I  were  you,'  for  fear  of 
seeming  to  interfere  with  his  pleasures." 

"  No,  you  don't  say  it,"  her  brother  answered, 
with  a  masculine  smile.  "But,  by  George, 
Julia,  you  look  it." 

"  I'm  sorry  if  I  do,"  the  mother  went  on,  with 
her  eyes  fixed  steadily  on  the  distant  peak.  "  I 
can't  bear  to  let  Hubert  see  he's  giving  me 
trouble.  Dear  boy,  I  only  want  to  make  him 
happy.  And  I  know  we  women  can't  quite 
understand  what  a  boy  wants  to  do.  We  would 
like,  of  course,  to  make  girls  and  women  of 
them." 

"  Fortunately,"  Sir  Emilius  interposed, 
"  there's  not  much  danger  of  your  succeeding 
in  that  aim  with  Hubert.  He  has  a  fine  broad 
basis  of  solid  manliness  to  work  upon  which  it 
would  be  difficult  to  feminize.  Though,  of 
course,  if  you  could,  you  would  do  your  best 
to  feminize  it." 


i6  A  Splendid  Sin. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not  !  "  Mrs,  Egremont  cried. 
**  My  own  dear  boy  !  Why,  I  just  love  his 
manliness  !  " 

**  Yes,  you  just  love  his  manliness.  Every 
mother  does  ;  and  never  remembers  that  it 
can  only  be  ensured  by  those  very  dangers  she 
would  like  to  guard  him  from.  Without  break- 
ing of  eggs,  my  dear,  there  is  no  omelet. 
You  only  want  to  make  him  happy.  Yet  3^ou 
let  him  see  you  live  for  his  happiness.  Now, 
isn't  that  the  way  to  make  him  selfish  ?" 

Mrs.  Egremont  shrank  back,  surprised. 
"What,  Hubert  selfish?"  she  cried.  **  My 
Hubert  selfish  ?  Why,  Mill,  you  can't  mean 
it.  Nothing  on  earth  could  make  Hubert 
selfish  !  " 

The  doctor  stroked  his  chin  ;  professional 
habits  survive  even  in  private  life.  "  Well,  I 
admit,"  he  answered,  "  that  Hubert,  up  to  date, 
is  one  of  the  most  affectionate  and  unselfish 
young  fellows  I  ever  came  across.  I  allow  he's 
wrapped  up  in  you.  Never  knew  a  boy  think 
more  of  his  mother — as,  of  course,  he  ought  to 
do,  for  you've  been  a  perfect  angel  to  him. 
Still,  it  can't  be  good  for  him  to  see  that  you 
are  always  thinking  of  him,  and  watching  over 
him,  and  planning  his  happiness.  He's  a  good 
lad,  I  admit,  and,  as  the  stock  phrase  goes,  he 
has  never  given  you  one  minute's  anxiety — 
though  he's  never  ceased  for  one  minute  to 
be  an  anxiety  to  you.    He's  unselfish  by  nature. 


The  Black  Eagle.  \^ 

I  grant.  That  he  takes  from  you ;  for  you're 
about  the  most  unselfish  woman  I  ever  came 
across,  Julia  ;  and  I've  known  you  for  forty- 
four  years,  and  am  in  a  position  to  judge  of 
you.  Still,  consider  the  other  side.  These 
things  are  hereditary.  Every  man  is  liable, 
sooner  or  later,  to  show  some  traits,  at  least, 
that  recall  his  father." 

Mrs.  Egremont's  cheek  burned  bright  crim- 
son. "  His  father  ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  a 
sudden  fall  in  her  voice.  "  His  father  !  His 
father  ! "  Then,  after  a  moment,  the  glow 
dying  away,  she  added,  in  a  lower  tone,  "  Ah, 
yes  ;  I  forgot  ;  his  father  !  " 

"  Walter  was  the  most  selfish  pig  I  ever  knew 
in  my  life,"  Sir  Emilius  continued,  with  the 
frankness  of  family  confidence. 

Mrs.  Egremont  leaned  forward  with  an  im- 
patient wave  of  the  hand.  "  Oh,  don't  talk  of 
him  !  "  she  cried.  "  I  am  only  happy — when 
I  forget  about  him,  Emilius." 

Sir  Emilius  paused.  He  took  a  puff  or  two 
at  his  cigarette.  Then  he  resumed  the  con- 
versation. "  Still  you  must  realize,"  he  said, 
slowly,  "that  if  Hubert  takes  after  3'o//  in  some 
things,  he  must  equally  take  after  Walter  in 
others.  And  Walter  being  a  conspicuously 
selfish  man,  anything  that  tends  to  encourage 
selfishness  in  Hubert  ought  surely  to  be 
avoided." 

Mrs.    Egremont    paused   too.      For    some 


A  Splendid  Sin. 

minutes  she  seemed  to  turn  the  matter  over 
in  her  mind.  The  doctor's  eyes  were  fixed 
steadily  upon  her.  He  was  reading  her 
through  and  through,  and  she  knew  it  per- 
fectly. She  trembled  under  his  glance.  He 
could  see  into  one's  brain.  But  at  last  she 
broke  silence.  "  I  suppose,"  she  said,  hesita- 
ting, '^  certain  characteristics  of  one  parent, 
Emilius,  tend  rather  to  come  out  in  children, 
and  certain  of  the  other.  Now,  Hubert's  father 
was  undoubtedly,  at  least,  a  very  able  man  ; 
he  was  a  man  of  intellect.  And  Hubert  has 
intellect — far  more  intellect  than  he  could  ever 
have  derived  from  me.  Well,  then,  isn't  it 
possible — I  don't  know,  I  put  the  question  to 
you  only  as  a  physiologist— isn't  it  possible 
that  Hubert  might  take  intellectually  after  his 
father,  and  emotionally  after  me  ?  Might  he 
not  reproduce  his  father's  brains  without — with- 
out reproducing  any  moral  defects  his  father 
may  have  exhibited  ?  " 

'*  May  have  exhibited.  Why,  Julia,"  Sir 
Emilius  exclaimed,  smiling, "  how  unnecessarily 
mild  is  your  way  of  putting  it  !  You  know  as 
well  as  I  do  what  sort  of  man  Walter  really 
was.  Could  Hubert  inherit  any  kind  of  good 
quality  from  him — other  than  intellectual  ?  " 

Mrs.  Egremont  bowed  her  head.  Again 
she  was  silent.  "Don't  let's  talk  of  it,"  she 
cried  at  last  ;  "  I  can't  bear  to  think  about  it." 

Sir  Emilius  rose  from  his  place   with  great 


The  Black  Eagle.  19 

deliberation,  and  lighted  another  cigarette. 
"Selfishest  pig  I  ever  knew  in  my  life,"  he 
murmured  to  himself  in  a  very  slow  drawl,  as 
he  paced  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  seat. 
**  But  Julia's  quite  right  !  Hubert  doesn't  take 
after  him.  This  one-sided  heredity  is  common 
enough,  after  all.  Judge  a  man  as  a  whole, 
and  he's  half  his  father  and  half  his  mother. 
But  wliich  half  of  each  will  come  out  in  each 
part— why,  that's  more  than  physiology  at  pres- 
ent can  decide  for  us  !  " 

Mrs.  Egremont  rose  too.  "  Emilius,"  she 
cried,  faltering,  "I  can't  stand  it  any  longer. 
This  suspense  w^ears  me  out.  I  mtist  go  and 
meet  him  !  " 

"  By  all  means,"  Sir  Emilius  answered. 
"  One  w^alk  like  another !  He's  as  safe  as 
houses,  of  course.  But  we'll  go  and  meet 
him." 

**  It  was  so  black  on  the  Eselstein  once  this 
afternoon,"  the  mother  added,  after  a  forced 
pause.  "  He  may  have  been  caught  in  a  thun- 
derstorm." 

**  Clouds  designed  in  sepia,"  Sir  Emilius  ad- 
mitted. "  But  he'll  come  to  no  harm.  An 
expert  climber  like  Hubert  !  Cats  have  nine 
lives,  they  say  :  boys  have  ten,  I  fancy." 

He  walked  on  a  pace  or  two,  then  he  began 
again.  "  Hubert  has  intellect,"  he  said,  "  un- 
doubted intellect.  But  it's  badly  compounded. 
The  worst  of  him  is,  he's  half  a  poet  and  half 


20 


A  Splendid  Sin. 


a  physiologist.     Now,  you  can't  drive  poetry 
and  physiology  tandem." 

"  Hubert  drives  them  abreast,"  Mrs.  Egre- 
mont  retorted,  gently.  "And,  to  my  mind, 
they  go  very  well  in  harness." 


A  Florentine  Nobleman.  21 


CHAPTER  II. 

A   FLORENTINE    NOBLEMAN. 

The  Black  Eagle  in  the  Rothenthal  is  one  of 
those  old-fashioned  Swiss  hotels  which  lie  a 
little  off  the  beaten  track  of  tourists.  The 
season  was  autumn,  and  the  crop  of  visitors 
was  nearly  all  garnered.  On  the  verandah  of 
the  inn  the  concierge  stood  lounging,  with  his 
cap  on  one  side,  a  cheap  Swiss  cigar  stuck 
carelessly  in  his  mouth,  and  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  Nobody  else  stood  about  except 
a  single  chambermaid,  in  the  Bernese  dress 
now  confined  to  her  occupation.  The  con- 
cierge nodded.   "  Season's  over,"  he  murmured. 

"Never  knew  it  close  so  early,"  the  chamber- 
maid answered. 

"  Bad  weather  in  England,"  the  concierge 
replied.  "  Keeps  them  from  coming  south. 
Fine  on  the  Italian  lakes.  Keeps  them  from 
coming  north.  I'm  off  to  Nice,  Rosa,  if  this 
sort  of  thing  goes  on  much  longer." 

**  Well,  I  don't  mind  it,"  Rosa  answered,  with 
a  saucy  air.  *'  A  little  relief  after  the  hurry  and 
scurry  !  I'm  engaged  till  the  thirtieth,  come 
visitors  or  come  nobody." 


22  A  Splendid  Sin. 

**  Ah,  the  patron  engages  you  so  ;  but  Fm  by 
the  week,"  the  concierge  continued  ;  "  and  as 
things  go  now,  there's  no  tips  worth  speaking 
of." 

'*  Well,  I  don't  mind  for  that,"  Rosa  answered. 
"I've  made  a  good  season — and  I  want  to  stop 
on  here  as  long  as  I  can ;  for  I'm  doing  my 
winter  at  Naples,  where  my  term  doesn't  begin 
before  the  loth  of  November.  So  of  course 
it  suits  me  best  to  hang  on  here  and  take  it 
easy.  There's  nobody  left  on  my  floor  now, 
except  those  English  in  Number  Twenty." 

"  Ten  coming  to-morrow,"  the  concierge  said, 
briefly. 

"Yes,  but  only  Cookies.  They  give  more 
trouble  than  Pourboire,  those  Cook's  tourists." 

"Too  many  Cooks  spoil  the  Continent,"  the 
concierge  murmured,  reflectively.  "  If  it 
weren't  for  the  Americans " 

Rosa  drew  herself  up  suddenly.  She  was  a 
transformed  woman.  The  easy-going  air  of 
the  chambermaid  -at-large  gave  way  at  once  to 
the  official  demeanor  of  the  chambermaid-in- 
waiting.  At  the  same  moment  a  similar  trans- 
formation came  over  the  concierge.  He  pulled 
his  cap  straight,  hid  his  cigar  in  his  palm,  and 
assumed  the  severely  well-bred  air  which  is  the 
badge  of  his  position.  Anyone  could  guess  that 
strangers  were  coming.  And,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  it  was  the  roll  of  carriage-wheels  that  had 
wrought  this  metamorphosis.     A  Family  was 


A  Florentine  Nobleman.  23 

arriving.  *'  Must  be  those  stingy  Italians  who 
telegraphed  for  rooms  on  the  third  floor  from 
Milan,"  Rosa  murmured,  pulling  her  Bernese 
bodice  straight,  and  arranging  her  hair  in  the 
most  approved  fashion.  "  He  calls  himself  a 
Marquis  ;  but  he  wants  on  salon  !  Just  like 
those  Italians  ! " 

The  concierge  rang  the  big  bell.  All  at 
once,  from  the  recesses  of  the  kitchen  and  din- 
ing-room, a  whole  posse  of  waiters  in  very 
white  ties  and  very  black  coats  swarmed  out 
like  ants,  to  take  their  stand  on  the  steps  and 
welciyme  the  new^-comers.  The  patron  him- 
self, all  cringing  obsequiousness,  one  wrinkled 
smile,  stood  at  the  top  of  the  flight  and  rubbed 
his  hands  in  expectation  :  the  waiters  and 
chambermaids,  the  boots  and  porters,  all  stood 
at  attention  in  their  various  positions.  As  the 
carriage  with  the  "  stingy  Italians,"  drew  up  at 
the  foot  of  the  steps,  the  concierge  advanced, 
all  servility,  to  greet  them  ;  while  the  landlord, 
representative  of  the  only  real  aristocracy  in 
modern  Switzerland,  bowed  his  profoundest 
bow  from  the  top  of  the  flight  to  the  prospec- 
tive customers. 

The  concierge  took  the  rugs  and  umbrellas 
as  they  descended.  *'  For  70,"  he  observed  in 
an  undertone  to  the  porter.  *'  Take  that  bag 
down,  Karl !  The  lady's  parasol,  Rosa  !  Al- 
phonse,  the  portmanteau  !  " 

A  stout  but  well-built  Italian  gentleman  rose 


f 


24  A  Splendid  Sin. 

from  his  seat  in  a  leisurely  manner.  He  was 
tall  and  broad-shouldered,  with  very  big 
mustaches  and  a  bushy  black  beard,  and  his 
appearance  was  that  of  a  born  aristocrat.  He 
smiled  a  bland  smile  of  somewhat  cynical 
amusement.  "  Received,  as  usual,  by  the 
whole  strength  of  the  company,"  he  said,  in  his 
soft  Tuscan,  turning  round  to  his  pretty  young 
daughter  w^ho  accompanied  him.  **  We  shall 
have  to  pay  for  it,  Fede  !  No  pay,  no  polite- 
ness ;  nothing  in  Switzerland  without  paying 
through  the  nose  for  it  !  "  Then  he  went  on 
in  good  colloquial  German  to  the  concierge, 
*'  I  telegraphed  from  Milan  for  rooms  for  my- 
self and  my  daughter.  I  hope  you  have  re- 
served them.  The  Marchese  and  Marchesa 
Tornabuoni."  He  said  the  last  words  with 
just  a  touch  of  pomposity. 

"  S/,  signore,"  the  concierge  answered  in 
Italian,  anxious  to  show  he  had  fully  under- 
stood that  part  of  the  colloquy  which  was  not 
intended  for  him, — and  politer  than  usual  in 
order  to  disprove  its  libellous  insinuations. 
'*  Your  rooms  are  ready  for  you.  Will  your 
excellency  and  the  Signora  Marchesa  give 
yourselves  the  trouble  to  mount  at  once  to 
them?" 

*'  A  lift  ? "  the  Marchese  inquired,  raising  his 
eyebrows. 

*'S/,  signore;  a  lift  and  electric  light;  we 
made  the  installation  for  both  this  season." 


A  Florentine  Nobleman.  25 

*'  Looks  comfortable,  Fede,"  the  Marchese 
went  on,  under  his  breath,  shaking  off  the  first 
layer  of  the  dust  of  travel.  ''  Poiif!  that  St. 
Gottard  is  dusty  enough  for  anything  ;  but  the 
road  here  from  Goeschenen — my  faith,  what 
clouds  !  I  shall  never  be  clean  again  ! " 

"  I  wonder  Hubert  wasn't  here  to  meet  us," 
Fede  observed,  glancing  round  her.  She  was 
a  tall  j^lii  of  eighteen,  with  abundant  dark  hair 
and  a  dusky  complexion  ;  yet  bright-colored 
and  rosy,  with  the  ingenuous  beauty  of  young 
southern  girls  in  the  opening  rosebud  stage  of 
development. 

"  Hubert  here  to  meet  us  !  "  the  Marchese 
exclaimed,  gazing  about  him  in  return. 
"Hubert  here  to  meet  us.  Not  if  /  can  help 
it  !  My  child,  how  foolish  of  you  !  No,  no, 
I  took  good  care  to  prevent  such  a  mischance. 
I  wrote  particularly  that  we  would  not  arrive 
at  Rothenthal  till  to-morrow.  Why,  what  is 
the  girl  thinking  of  ?  Your  hair  is  full  of  dust ; 
you're  as  brown  as  a  myrtle -berry  ;  you're 
flushed  and  blown  about  ;  your  hat's  on  one 
side  ;  and  your  dress  doesn't  look  the  least  bit 
becoming.  No  pure-blooded  Italian  girl 
would  ever  dream  of  appearing  in  such  a  state 
as  yours  before  her  inamorato.  That's  the 
English  blood  in  you — your  poor  dear  mother's 
blood— and  the  English  training  !  " 

Fede's  face  gr^w  still  redder.  "  But  I  should 
have  liked  him  to  be  here,"  she  said,  simply. 


26  A  Splendid  Sin. 

"  And  he  would  have  been  here,  of  course,  if 
he'd  known  I  was  coming," 

"  No  doubt,"  her  father  answered,  with  the 
same  cynical  smile.  "To  prevent  which  mis- 
fortune, my  poor  dear  innocent,  I  wrote  we 
would  arrive  by  midday  to-morrow,  and  so 
secured  you  time  to  put  your  hair  straight  and 
wash  your  face  and  hands  before  meeting  your 
lover.  We  know  nothing  as  yet  of  his  position 
and  prospects  ;  but  //he's  a  proper  person  to 
marry  you  at  all,  it's  as  well  you  should  make  a 
good  first  impression  upon  him  and  his  family." 

"  I  don't  feel  like  that  to  Hubert,"  Fede  an- 
swered, smiling.  *'  Hubert  is— w^ell,  in  Eng- 
land, you  know,  it's  all  so  different." 

"  But  we  are  not  in  England,''  'he  Marchese 
replied,  biting  the  end  of  his  moustache.  "So 
now  go  to  your  room  and  make  yourself  pre- 
sentable. A  girl  should  always  look  her  best 
before  her  lover — until  she's  married  him. 
Here,  concierge,  one  moment  !" 

"Signore!" 

"  Is  there  a  Mr.  Egremont  in  the  house?  " 

"Yes,  signore  ;  and  Mrs.  Egremont,  his 
mother  ;  and  Sir  Emilius  Rawson  ;  all  three 
of  them  Enghsh." 

"  Then  don't  tell  them  we've  arrived.  We'll 
go  up  to  our  rooms  now,  and  see  them  later." 

"  Is  Mr.  Egremont  in  the  hotel  at  present  ?" 
Fede  interposed,  all  crimson. 

"  No,    signora,   not   at    this    moment.     He 


A  F'loreiitine  Nobleman. 


27 


started  for  atrip  up  the  Eselstein  this  morning, 
and  has  not  yet  returned.  His  mother  and 
uncle  have  gone  out  to  meet  him." 

"That's  well,"  the  Marchese  answered. 
"  Go  up  to  your  room  at  once,  Fede.  You're 
a  perfect  fright  at  present.  It  would  be  abso- 
lutely fatal  to  your  chance  of  marriage  if  your 
Uberto  were  to  see  you." 

Fede  went  off  to  the  lift  ;  the  Marchese  fol- 
lowed her.  Rosa  showed  them  to  their  rooms 
as  obsequiously  as  if  they  were  not  "  stingy 
Italians."  Fede  unpacked  her  portmanteau 
and  did  her  hair  as  desired.  They  had  come 
over  from  Milan  that  day,  and  driven  across 
from  Goeschenen.  Yet  she  was  not  tired.  In 
scenery  like  that,  she  thought,  she  could  never 
get  tired.  Besides,  had  she  not  come  to  meet 
Hubert  once  more  ?  And  though  she  was 
naturally  nervous  as  to  what  papa  might  think 
of  Hubert,  and  what  Hubert  might  think  of 
papa,  she  was  absolutely  happy  at  the  thought 
of  meeting  him.  Her  cheek  was  flushed  with 
quite  unusual  roses,  and  her  eye  was  bright, 
when  she  went  out  on  the  balcony.  Her 
father  was  there  before  her,  smoking  his  in- 
evitable cigar,  and  gazing  rather  lazily  across 
at  the  mountains.  Even  after  all  the  glorious 
scenery  she  had  come  through  that  day,  the 
view  delighted  Fede,  "  Oh,  papa,"  she  cried, 
gazing  out  upon  it,  "did  you  ever  in  your  life 
see  anything  so  lovely  ? " 


28  A  Splendid  Sin. 

The  Marchese  waved  his  cigar  over  the  field 
of  view  with  Italian  demonstrativeness.  "  Why, 
yes,  my  child,"  he  answered.  "  Dozens  of 
times.  At  home,  on  our  estate  at  Florence."  He 
punctuated  each  phrase  with  a  puff  and  a  wave. 
**  For  my  part,  I  consider  a  basking  Tuscan 
hillside— covered  with  a  good  terraced  Chianti 
vineyard — a  vast  deal  more  attractive  than  all 
this  useless  snow  and  ice  and  pinewood." 

**  Papa,"  Fede  cried,  clasping  her  hands, 
"  you've  110  sense  of  the  picturesque  !  " 

*'  So  your  mother  used  to  say,  my  dear.  And 
perhaps  I  haven't.  I'm  a  man  of  business. 
But  I  believe  you  allow  these  Swiss  to 
bamboozle  you,  as  they  bamboozle  everybody." 
The  Marchese  sank  his  voice  to  a  confidential 
whisper.  "  My  dear,  the  Swiss  are  an  extremely 
clever  commercial  nation.  They  manage  to 
delude  all  the  rest  of  the  world  in  a  most  ex- 
traordinary fashion." 

Fede's  eyes  were  far  away  upon  the  cloud- 
topped  peaks,  now  just  beginning  toglowvvith 
the  pink  light  of  sunset.  *'  Delude  them  ? "  she 
murmured.  '*  How  do  you  mean,  delude 
them?" 

The  Marchese  took  a  puff  or  two,  and  then  con- 
tinued deliberately.  "It  was  a  fellow  called  De 
Saussure,"he  said,  **  who  first  hit  upon  the  prin- 
ciple— very  clever  fellow,  as  you  may  naturally 
imagine.  You  see,  Switzerland,  to  start  with, 
was  a  poor  and  out-of-the  way  pastoral  country. 


A  Florentine  Nobleman.  29 

It  lived  on  pasture.  The  Swiss  produce  a 
quantity  of  beef,  and  mutton,  and  milk,  and 
cream,  and  eggs,  and  butter— and  they  don't 
know  what  to  do  with  them.  There  they 
are,  stuck  in  the  very  middle  of  the  map  of 
Europe — remote  from  the  consumer — remote 
from  all  the  great  markets— Paris,  London, 
Berlin,  Vienna,  Naples  ;  and  they  can't  afford 
to  send  their  stuff  aw^ay  by  rail,  because  it 
wouldn't  even  pay  the  cost  of  carriage.  They 
have  plenty  to  eat — and  nobody  to  eat  it.  So, 
happy  thought — as  they  can't  send  their 
produce  away  to  the  consumer,  they  must 
make  the  consumer  come  to  their  produce. 
Naturally,  however,  there  was  nothing  in  the 
w^orld  to  bring  people  of  their  own  free  wills 
to  these  inhospitable  wilds  ;  but  that  difficulty 
didn't  daunt  the  ingenious  Switzers.  They 
invented  scenery — and  the  rest  of  the  world 
fell  into  the  trap  like  lambs,  and  came  to 
Switzerland  to  eat  the  beef,  and  stare  at  the 
mountains  ? "  And  the  Marchese  puffed  away, 
with  eyes  half-closed,  well  pleased  at  his  ow^n 
philosophical  cleverness. 

"But,  papa,  they're  so  beautiful!"  Fede 
cried,  clasping  her  hands  ecstatically. 

"What,  the  Swiss?" 

"  No,  no,  of  course  not  ;  the  mountains  ! 
Look  at  them  now^  turning  crimson  in  the 
setting  sun.     Aren't  they  just  lovely  ?  " 

The    Marchese     shrugged    his    shoulders. 


30  A  Splendid  Sin. 

"  People  didn't  look  at  crags  in  the  eighteenth 
century,"  he  replied,  with  his  two  hands  ex- 
tended in  a  rhetorical  gesture.  "  The  Swiss 
hadn't  then  developed  the  scenery  business. 
Glaciers  were  not  as  yet  the  fashion.  Everybody 
in  those  days  used  sensibly  to  admire  fine  open 
stretches  of  cultivable  land — like  the  plain  of 
Lombardy  as  you  see  it  from  the  top  of  Milan 
Cathedral.  That  was  before  the  time  of 
Monsieur  de  Saussure,  who  discovered  the 
commercial  value  of  these  uninteresting  Alps. 
Putting  up  statues  is  a  precious  bad  way  of 
investing  your  money,  or  else  I  suspect  the 
grateful  Swiss  would  have  put  up  a  statue  to 
De  Saussure  long  ago.  But  they're  a  prudent 
people  ;  they  never  do  anything  except  with  a 
single  eye  to  remunerative  investment." 

"Oh,papa,"Fede  cried,  "you're  mcorrigible. 
I  believe  you  only  care  for  our  own  lovely 
place  on  tlie  Arno  for  the  sake  of  the  wine 
and  oil  you  make  in  it." 

"  My  dear,"  the  Marchese  answered,  with  the 
common  sense  of  the  modern  Italian,  **  in  spite 
of  the  present  depressed  condition  of  the  w^ine 
market,  my  Chianti  fetches  the  highest  price 
in  the  English  ports  of  any  brand  in  Tuscany, 
and  that's  quite  enough  for  me.  I  leave  the 
picturesque  to  those  who  care  for  it." 

"  But  these  mountains  ! "  Fede  cried,  stretch- 
ing her  arms  towards  them  impulsively. 

The  Marchese  spread    his   hands.     '*  Mere 


A  Florentine  Nobleman.  31 

anfractuosities  in  the  earth's  crust,"  he  an- 
swered. "They  would  make  much  more  land, 
ironed  T)ut  and  distributed." 

Fede  laughed  in  spite  of  herself.  *'  You're 
a  degenerate  Tornabuoni,  dear,"  she  said,  half 
in  jest,  half  in  earnest.  "  I'm  sure  Giovanni 
Tornabuoni,  who  had  the  pictures  painted  by 
Ghirlandajo  in  the  choir  of  Santa  Maria  Novella, 
wouldn't  have  thought  as  you  do." 

"  Very  probably  not,"  her  father  replied,  pat- 
ting her  head.  "  But  he  would  have  burnt  you 
for  a  heretic,  my  dear  ;  so  there  are  advantages 
both  ways.  I  don't  pretend,  myself,  that  I  live 
outside  my  own  century." 

Fede's  eyes  were  far  away  on  the  rose-tipped 
peaks.  "  I'm  glad,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  I'm  not 
as  practical  as  you,  papa.  Hubert  loves  the 
mountains— I  mean  the  anfractuosities — and  I 
love  them  too.  And  that  will  be  nice  for 
Hubert.  I  don't  think  Englishmen  are  so 
practical  as  Italians  ;  though  in  England,  of 
course,  everybody  thinks  differently." 

"  In  England,"  her  father  observed,  leaning 
over  the  parapet  and  puffing  away  reflectively, 
"  everybody  thinks  the  average  Italian  is  a 
judicious  mixture  of  an  operatic  tenor,  an 
organ-grinder,  a  Calabrian  brigand,  and  a 
Neapolitan  macaroni-seller.  The  Italian  of 
real  life  is  little  known,  even  to  Englishmen 
who  have  lived  long  in  Italy." 

"That's  true,"    Fede  replied.     "For,  as  a 


32  A  Splendid  Sin. 

matter  of  fact,  the  Italians  I  have  met 
have  all  been  intensely  practical,  while  the 
English  I  have  met,  no  matter  how  business- 
like, have  always  had  some  undercurrent  at 
least  in  their  natures  of  romance  and  poetry." 
"Too true," the Marchese  murmured.  "Too 
true,  I  fear,  Fedc.  Your  good  mother  was  an 
Englishwoman,  and  for  romantic- well,  you 
remember  her.  In  that,  you  show  yourself 
your  mother's  daughter.  I  sent  you  to  Eng- 
land to  be  educated,  because  it  was  her  dying 
wish,  and  also  because  an  Italian  girl  in  Flor- 
ence has  far  better  chances  of  marrying  an 
Englishman  of  fortune  than  a  Florentine  of 
equal  means  and  of  suitable  position.  And 
you  come  back  telling  me  you  are  in  love  with 

*  Hubert.'  'Who  is  Hubert?'  I  naturally 
ask  ;  and  you  answer  me,  '  His  other  name  is 
Egremont.  Isn't  it  a  pretty  one  ? — so  soft, 
Hubert    Egremont  ! '     '  Very   soft,'    I    admit, 

*  but  his  fortune,  his  prospects,  his  family, 
Fede  ? '  And  you  reply,  '  His  family  lives  in 
Devonshire,  the  loveliest  part  of  England,  with 
beautiful  red  cliffs  and  purple  bays  and  green 
valleys.*  '  How  many  acres  of  it  does  he 
own  ? '  I  ask.  You  have  never  even  inquired. 
I  tear  my  hair  but  I  get  no  further.  Your  in- 
formation about  him  sums  itself  up  in  the  two 
simple  facts  that  he  has  a  pretty  name  and  is 
an  agreeable  person.  I  ask  you,  is  that 
practical  ? " 


A  Florentine  Nobleman.  33 

Fede  looked  down  and  smiled,  a  little  em- 
barrassed smile,  while  she  fingered  the  rose  at 
her  bosom  somewhat  nervously.  '*  I  saw  so 
little  of  him,  you  see,  papa,"  she  answered, 
lowering  her  eyes.  "  We — we  only  met,  at 
most,  half-a  dozen  times.  And  then,  you  know, 
we  had  so  much  else  to  talk  about  !  " 

"  Yes,  /  know,"  the  Marchese  answered, 
more  amused  than  provoked,  for  he  had 
Italian  tolerance  for  the  foibles  of  the  young. 
"/  know,  exactly.  You  and  Hubert  went  on 
talking  pretty  nothings  to  one  another,  and 
making  love  for  love's  sake,  precisely  as  if  it 
were  an  intrigue,  not  a  marriage,  you  were 
contemplating.  A  pure-blooded  Italian  girl 
wouldn't  behave  like  that,  you  know — not  with 
a  man  she  thought  of  making  her  husband. 
A  married  woman  with  her  lover,  I  grant  you 
— very  right  and  proper  ;  but  a  marriage  is 
different ;  'tis  an  affair  of  business.  You  have 
to  take  this  man — he  has  to  take  this  woman — 
for  life  and  always.  Therefore  it  becomes  im- 
portant to  know  precisely  how  much  each  can 
contribute  to  the  family  exchequer,  and  what 
sort  of  fortune  each  expects  and  possesses.  If 
you  were  my  daughter  only,  you  w^ould  have 
inquired  these  things  first  about  your  precious 
Hubert.  As  you  are  also  your  mother's,  and 
have  imbibed  all  sorts  of  romantic  English 
ideas  at  Oxford,  you  inquire  nothing  of  the 
sort ;  you  merely  come  telling  me  that  Hubert 


34  A  Splendid  Sin. 

is  charming,  high-soulcd,  handsome,  clever,  in- 
tellectual. Arc  those  the  qualities,  I  ask  you, 
one  demands  in  a  husband  ?  " 

"They  are — in  England,"  Fede  answered, 
half  smiling.  For  the  Marchesc,  though  prac- 
tical, was  a  kindly-naturcd  father. 

**And  what's  the  consequence?"  the  Italian 
went  on,  holding  one  hand  out  oratorically. 
"  I  write  to  England,  delicately  suggesting 
tliese  important  preliminaries,  and  am  met  with 
a  reserve  which,  I  suppose,  proceeds  from  Eng- 
lish refinement,  but  which,  in  Italy,  we  should 
consider  absurd  and  impracticable.  We  should 
call  it  mere  shuffling.  You  tell  me  you're 
'  engaged,'  whatever  that  may  mean,  to  Hubert. 
So  I  have  no  resource  left  except  to  write  and 
inquire  when  and  where  I  may  meet  Mr. 
Hubert.  And  where  does  the  man  propose  to 
give  me  an  appointment  ?  In  Paris,  Milan, 
Florence,  Venice,  London,  where  either  party 
could  have  access  to  proper  legal  opinions  ? 
Not  a  bit  of  it  ;  he  says  he  and  his  mother  will 
be  touring  in  Switzerland,  and  they  will  be 
delighted  to  meet  us  half-way,  at  a  second-rate 
inn,  in  a  sequestered  valley,  remote  from  all 
the  conveniences  and  resources  of  civilization 
— they  discuss  the  affair  as  though  the  element 
of  contract  didn't  enter  into  the  question. 
And  thafs  what  poses  as  a  practical  people  ! 
Pah  !  cava  mia,  it  makes  me  ill  to  think  of 
it!"    . 


A  Florentine  Nobleman.  35 

Fede  smiled  in  turn.  She  had  spent  the 
five  formative  years  of  her  life  in  England,  first 
at  school,  and  then  at  Somerville  College  ;  and 
though  she  was  Italian  still  in  speech  and 
features,  she  was  English  to  the  core  in  her 
ideas  and  opinions.  "  That's  not  quite  the  way 
people  would  look  at  it  in  England—"  she 
began. 

"  I  know  it's  not,"  the  Marchese  interrupted, 
good-humoredly  ;  "and  that's  just  what  I 
complain  of  !  " 

"  They  would  think,"  Fede  went  on,  "  this 
was  an  affair  between  two  lovers,  and  that 
nothing  could  be  more  natural  than  for  the 
lovers  to  settle  it  among  these  beautiful  moun- 
tains and  these  lovely  valleys,  where  the  people 
most  concerned  could  find  abundant  oppor- 
tunities for  seeing  one  another  alone— after  the 
English  fashion.'^ 

"Precisely,"  her  father  echoed.  "  After  the 
English  fashion !  In  England,  a  marriage  is 
still,  to  a  great  extent,  an  affair  of  the  heart  ; 
in  Italy,  we  see  that  it  is  an  affair  of  the  pocket." 

"Then  I'm  glad,"  Fede  murmured,  "I'm 
going  to  marry  an  Englishman  ! " 

"Oh,  well,"  the  Marchese  replied,  shrugging 
his  shoulders  once  more,  "as  you  seem  to  have 
decided  the  question  for  yourself,  without  even 
so  much  as  an  inquiry  as  to  your  father,  I  really 
don't  know  why  I  should  have  come  all  this 
way  merely  to  give  my  consent  to  a  precon- 


36  A  Splendid  Sin. 

ceived  arrangement,  as  to  the  terms  of  which 
I  have  not  even  been  consulted  ! " 

Fede  took  his  hand  in  hers.  *'  Dear  papa," 
she  cried,  "  you  know  I  couldn't  bear  to  do  any- 
thing to  displease  you.  You  have  always  been 
the  vsweetest  and  best  of  fathers.  You've  been 
goodness  itself  to  me.  But  Hubert  is  so  nice, 
so  kind,  so  lovable  ;  I'm  sure  when  you  see 
him  you  can't  help  loving  him." 

The  Marchese  smiled  in  spite  of  himself. 
*'  Loving  him  !  "  he  exclaimed,  much  amused. 
"  There  you  are  again,  Fede.  You  insist  upon 
treating  it  all  as  if  it  were  a  mere  affair  of  pass- 
ing affection.  You  forget  it  is  proposed  you 
should  marry  this  man.  And  we  don't  yet 
know  whether  he  has  anything  to  marry  upon." 

"  I  would  marry  him  without  a  penny," 
Fede  exclaimed  impulsively. 

"  No  doubt,"  the  Marchese  replied  ;  "  and 
come  back  upon  me  in  three  years,  without  a 
penny,  but  with  a  couple  of  babies  !  Remem- 
ber, Fede,  I  have  the  two  boys  to  provide  for. 
Luigi  must  have  his  allowance  for  the  army  ; 
Carlo  must  continue  to  cultivate  the  family 
estate  ;  so  where  I  am  to  findany  but  the  most 
modest  dowry  for  you,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know. 
The  first  thing  to  be  settled — the  very  first 
thing — is  the  question  how  much  this  young 
man  is  worth,  and  what  arrangement  he  pro- 
poses to  make  for  you.  I  shall  speak  of  that 
at  once —  the  first  thing  when  I  see  them." 


A  Florentine  Nobleman.  37 

Fede  drew  back,  crimson-cheeked.  "  Oh, 
papa,"  she  cried,  "  I  beg  of  you— not  this 
evening  ! " 

"  Why  not,  my  child  ?  It's  most  proper  and 
businesslike." 

"  Businesslike  !  That's  just  it  !  Wait  till 
to-morrow  at  least,"  Fede  pleaded,  all  her 
English  feelings  in  revolt  at  the  suggestion  of 
such  precipitancy. 

**  What,  my  dear,  and  let  you  spend  an 
evening  with  him  in  my  presence,  on  the  foot- 
ing of  your  future  husband,  before  I've  inquired 
whether  the  arrangement  is  practicable  ?  My 
child,  it  would  be  impossible !  " 

Fede  hesitated  for  a  moment.  Then  a  bril- 
liant idea  struck  her.  "Well,  let  us  be  busi- 
nesslike," she  answered,  conforming  as  far  as 
she  could  to  her  father's  standpoint.  "After 
all,  they  are  English  ;  and  you  must  deal  with 
Rome  as  Rome  expects  to  be  dealt  with.  If 
you  speak  to  them  to-night  they  will  think  it 
precipitate,  and — and  vulgar — and  mercenary. 
They  are  not  accustomed  in  England  to  that 
way  of  doing  things.  If  you  say  out  at  once 
to  them—*  How  much  is  he  worth  ? '  you  will 
only  succeed  in  setting  them  against  you.  Now, 
I  don't  know  whether  Hubert  is  rich  or  poor  ; 
I-— I  had  too  many  other  things  to  discuss  the 
few  times  I  saw  him— for  you  know  it  was  all  a 
very  sudden  engagement.  But  perhaps  he  is 
rich — so  many  English  are ;  and  at  any  rate  he  was 


38  A  Splendid  Sin. 

an  Oxford  man,  which  means  a  good  deal,  you 
know,  in  England.  Wouldn't  it  be  better  worth 
w^hile  to  wait  just  one  night,  and  find  out  to- 
morrow, than  to  create  a  bad  impression  on  a 
man  who,  after  all,  may  be  what  you  your- 
self would  consider  a  very  suitable  son-in- 
law  ? " 

She  said  it  with  a  pretty  smile,  which  showed 
at  once  how  far  she  was  modifying  her  own 
mode  of  thought  to  suit  her  father's  ;  and  when 
Fede  Tornabuoni  smiled,  she  was  simply  ir- 
resistible. The  Marchese  looked  at  her  with 
admiring  eyes  ;  he  was  proud  and  fond  of  her. 
''You're  a  clever  little  humbug,"  he  answered, 
after  a  moment,  '*  and  I  know  you  don't  mean 
it.  But  still,  there's  something  in  w^hat  you  say. 
I  know  these  English  and  their  absurd  ro- 
manticisms. Well,  let  it  be  as  you  wish.  'Tis 
the  true  Tuscan  way,  domane,  doniane  ! " 

They  were  bending  over  the  second-floor 
balcony  as  they  spoke,  and  the  concierge  was 
lounging  on  a  garden  bench  below.  Suddenly 
the  Marchese  leaned  down  and  addressed  him. 
**  What  mountain  did  you  say  Mr.  Egremont 
had  ascended  to-day  ? "  he  inquired,  with  a 
curious  air  of  interest. 

*'  Signore,  the  Eselstein." 

**  Most  appropriate  name  ! — the  Donkeys' 
Crag.     Alone?" 

"  With  a  guide  and  two  companions." 

The   Marchese  turned  to  Fede.     "  With  a 


A  Florentine  Nobleman.  39 

guide  !  "  he  murmured  complacently.  **  That 
looks  like  money  !  " 

"  Hubert  always  did  everything  nicely,"  Fede 
answered,  with  rapture  ;  *'  and  he  dressed,  oh, 
just  charmingly  !  " 

"  What  rooms  ?  "  the  Marchese  called  out 
again. 

*'A  salon  and  three  bedrooms  on  the  first 
floor,"  the  concierge  answered.  Then  he  added, 
maliciously,  "  They  are  very  nice  people." 

"Which  means,  they  spend  money  freely," 
the  Marchese  murmured  lower,  aside  to  Fede. 
"  Still,  that  may  be  only  their  brag.  They  may 
think  you're  an  heiress,  and  well  worth 
catching." 

**  Oh,  papa,  Hubert's  not  like  that,"  Fede 
answered,  indignantly. 

"  They  never  are,  my  dear— till  you  find  them 
out,"  her  father  replied,  with  his  cynical  smile. 
"  Well,  w^ell,  we  shall  see.  On  the  w^hole, 
though,  I  rather  like  the  look  of  your  Hubert." 

And  on  the  veranda  below,  the  concierge 
was  observing  that  moment  to  Rosa,  "  Beggarly 
Italians,  I  expect,  come  here  to  marry  their 
daughter  off  to  a  wealthy  Englishman  !  Not 
much  to  be  made  out  of  them,  I  feel  sure.  He 
put  the  price  he  wanted  to  pay  for  rooms  in 
his  telegram." 

"  She's  all  right,"  Rosa  answered,  with  a  nod. 
*'  Shes  half  English,  I  can  see  ;  but  he's  a  reg- 
ular Italian.     Sort  of  man  wiio'd  stop  at  a  hotel 


40  A  Splendid  Sin. 

for  six  weeks,  and  then  give  you  a  franc  at  the 
end  when  he  was  leaving  !  I  made  my  last 
winter  season  at  Rome,  and  I  had  enough  of 
them,  I  promise  you.  The  year  before,  at  the 
Paradis  at  Cannes,  all  the  world  was  English, 
and  the  tips  were  just  splendid.  But  at  Rome 
—my  hotel  was  Italian  to  the  core,  and,  my 
faith,  it  was  starvation  ! " 


Enter  Hubert.  41 


CHAPTER  III. 

ENTER   HUBERT. 

A  SHORT  mile  from  the  inn,  Mrs.  Egremont 
and  Sir  Emilius  had  come  upon  Hubert.  The 
cHmber  of  peaks  was  walking  alone,  having 
dropped  his  guide  at  the  village,  while  his  two 
temporary  companions  had  diverged  by  them- 
selves from  the  base  of  the  crag  in  the  opposite 
direction,  meaning  to  sleep,  they  said,  at  the 
Rhone  Glacier. 

The  mother's  heart  leaped  up  with  pride  as 
Hubert  approached  her.  How  carelessly 
handsome  he  looked  in  his  mountaineering 
suit,  swinging  his  stick  as  he  went— how  lithe, 
how  supple  !  No  costume  sets  a  man  off  like 
flannel  shirt  and  running-trousers,  and  Hubert 
was  attired  for  a  light  climb  below  snow-level 
in  that  easy  fashion.  He  was  a  well-built 
young  fellow,  after  the  English  pattern,  almost 
arrogantly  healthy.  Mrs.  Egremont  had  never 
felt  prouder  of  him  before  ;  so  tall,  so  fresh, 
so  strong— so  like  his  father  ! 

He  hallooed  to  them  from  afar.  "Not 
alarmed,  I  hope,  mother  ? " 


42  A  Splendid  Sin. 

Mrs.  Egremont  prevaricated.  *'  We  thought 
we  might  as  well  stroll  this  way  as  any  other," 
she  answered  wdth  a  gasp,  gulping  down  her 
inner  joy  and  delight  at  recovering  him.  But 
she  sank  on  a  grassy  knoll  by  the  side  of  the 
path,  and  surveyed  him  v/ith  great  eyes  of  re- 
lief and  tenderness. 

Hubert  flung  himself  by  her  side  on  a  bed 
of  short  clover.  "  Oh,  it's  nothing  of  a  climb," 
he  cried,  reassuring  her.  **  We  just  walked  up 
and  down.  As  easy  as  running.  Quite  a  baby 
of  a  peak.  Like  Primrose  Hill,  I  assure 
you." 

"  Like  Primrose  Hill  !  "  Sir  Emilius  echoed, 
with  an  incredulous  laugh.  **  I  looked  at  it 
through  my  glasses  this  morning,  Julia — all 
ramping  teeth  of  rock — and  I  call  it  a  pretty 
stiff  piece  of  climbing.  My  dear,  that  boy  will 
stick  a  notice  on  the  Jungfrau — '  This  hill  is 
dangerous  to  cyclists.'  " 

"Anybody  else  on  the  summit?"  Mrs. 
Egremont  inquired  with  forced  interest,  trying 
her  best  to  seem  occupied  with  that  hateful 
climbing  ;  though,  to  be  honest,  the  one  thing 
she  ever  cared  to  learn  about  a  mountain  jaunt 
was  that  her  boy  had  got  back  again. 

'*  Crowds  of  them  !"  Hubert  answered.  "  A 
perfect  Piccadilly  !  "  He  plucked  a  long  grass 
and  bit  at  it  as  he  spoke.  *'  Ten  people  on  the 
Eselstein  !" 

"And  you  got  some  new  specimens?"  Mrs, 


Enter  Hubert.  43 

Egremont  continued,  with  a  wistful  glance  at 
his  tin  collecting  case. 

Hubert  opened  the  little  box.  "Twoorthree 
Alpine  beetles,"  he  answered—"  rather  odd 
varieties  ;  and  a  pretty  gentian  that's  new  to 
me.  But  I  had  to  scramble  for  it  ;  a  cleft  in 
the  rock  ;  I  slipped  and  hung  on,  and  cut  my 
fingers  in  clinging."  He  held  them  up- 
lacerated. 

"  Oh,  Hubert,"  his  mother  cried,  shrinking 
back  in  spite  of  herself,  "  how  can  you  bear  to 
risk  your  life  for  nothing  ? " 

"There  was  no  risk,  mother.  A  mere  drop 
of  ten  feet.  If  I  fell,  I  lighted  on  a  perfect 
feather-bed  of  scented  daphne.  But  I  wanted 
the  plant,  because  I  rather  think  it's  a  hybrid, 
and  these  natural  hybrids  are  always  interest- 
ing. They  give  one  such  clues  to  the  work- 
ings of  heredity." 

The  mother  fingered  the  plant  with  a  sort  of 
mute  horror,  as  she  might  have  fingered  some 
sentient  thing—an  asp  or  a  cobra— that  had 
tried  to  lure  her  boy  into  danger.  But  she 
uttered  not  a  word.  She  had  schooled  herself 
never  to  let  Hubert  see  how  deeply  these 
mountain  excursions  terrified  her. 

**And  the  view?"  she  asked  again,  with 
maternal  hypocrisy.  Earth  holds  no  hypocrite 
hke  your  loving  mother. 

The  poet  in  Hubert  blossomed  out.  "  The 
view,"   he   said,    "  was  ineffable  !     I   was    in 


44  A  Splendid  Sin. 

luck's  way,  mother — we  happened  on  a  thun- 
derstorm !  It  played  all  round  us.  Great 
dragons  of  black  cloud  flung  themselves  with 
huge  claws  and  folds  against  the  walls  of  the 
peak  ;  we  looked  down  upon  them  from  above, 
and  saw  them  shatter  and  destroy  themselves  on 
the  precipices.  They  surged  up,  darkling,  one 
after  another,  with  curled  tails  and  rampant 
backs,  and  rushed  madly  against  the  Eselstein. 
There  they  broke  themselves  in  lightning  as  a 
wave  breaks  in  foam.  Great  seas  of  white  mist 
filled  up  the  valleys.  But  away  to  the  south, 
one  strip  of  pale,  blue  sky  broke  the  field  of 
black ;  and  against  it,  the  Zermatt  peaks  stood 
out  white  and  calm,  showing  their  teeth  with 
a  smile,  as  if  they  disdained  the  thunder. 
They  almost  seemed  to  laugh  at  it — just  a  curl 
of  contempt,  no  more,  as  to  a  base  inferior. 
I  never  saw  anything  grander  than  the  contrast 
between  the  blind  rage  of  the  storm-clouds, 
and  the  unheeding  serenity  of  the  placid  Alps, 
smiling  down  on  them  with  their  white  teeth, 
just  touched  with  sunbeams." 

*'  But  it  was  dangerous,  surely  ? "  Mrs.  Egre- 
mont  exclaimed — and  then  hated  herself  for 
saying  it.  *'  Alone,  at  that  height,  with  the 
lightning  all  round  you." 

"  It  was  grand,  I  know,"  Hubert  answered, 
gazing  up  at  the  rosy  glow  on  the  summit  of 
the  Himmelberg.  *' You  could  see  it  playing 
about  the  smaller  peaks,  while  the  glacier-clad 


Enter  Hubert.  45 

heights  and  white  crystalhne  needles  rose  per- 
fectly unconcerned  into  the  dazzling  sunlight." 

**  Capital  for  those  who  like  it  !  "  Sir  Emilius 
put  in,  drily.  "  But  you  must  have  got  wet, 
Hubert  ;  though  at  your  age  a  wetting  seems 
to  promote  digestion." 

There  was  a  minute's  pause,  during  which 
Mrs.  Egremont  gazed  at  her  son  fondly. 

**  Fede  not  come,  I  suppose  ? "  Hubert  began 
again,  stretching  himself  and  fondling  his 
muscle. 

"Why,  no,"  Sir  Emilius  interposed.  *'  We 
don't  expect  them  till  to-morrow." 

''  I  know  that  ;  but  I  thought " 

"  Yes,  lovers  will  think  things,"  Sir  Emilius 
said,  sardonically. 

**  I  thought  perhaps  Fede  would  beg  her 
father  not  to  sleep  at  Milan,  but  come  straight 
through  by  the  morning  train ;  and  then  of 
course  she'd  be  disappointed  if  I  was  not  at 
the  inn  w^hen  she  arrived,  to  meet  her." 

Sir  Emilius  smiled  the  wise  smile  of  middle 
age.  *'  Much  more  likely  she'd  want  to  get  a 
good  night's  rest,"  he  remarked,  "  so  as  to  look 
fresh  and  wtU  before  she  met  you.  ''  I've 
three  girls  of  my  own,  and  I  know  the  ways  of 
them." 

*'Milly  and  Hilda  and  Effie— oh,  yes," 
Hubert  said,  with  just  a  tinge  of  disrespect ; 
"but  then,  Fede's  quite  different." 

"  They    always    are   quite   different ! "    Sir 


46  A  Splendid  Sin. 

Eniiiiiis  admitted.  '*  Everybody's  girl  is  the 
one  girl  in  the  world.  *  There  is  none  like 
her,  none,'  says  Tennyson's  lover  in  Maud  ; 
which  shows,  not  that  Maud  was  an  exceptional 
creature,  but  that  Tennyson  had  indepen- 
dently arrived  at  the  same  generalization  as  to 
the  psychology  of  lovers." 

Hubert  lay  back  on  the  grass  and  surveyed 
the  sky  for  a  while  in  silence.  Then  he  ad- 
dressed himself  to  his  mother.  **  I  often  think," 
he  said,  in  a  very  musing  voice,  "  how  wonder- 
fully all  these  things  are  ordered.  It  almost 
makes  one  believe  at  times  in  the  old  idea  of 
an  over-ruling  providence." 

"  I  never  left  off  believing  in  that  old  idea," 
Mrs.  Egremont  murmured,  gently. 

Hubert  clasped  her  hand  in  his.  "  That's 
your  charm,"  he  said,  with  real  tenderness. 
*'  In  spite  of  everything,  mother,  you  still  be- 
lieve in  the  universe  !  And  really  it  almost 
looks  like  deliberate  design,  when  you  think 
of  the  strange  coincidences  which  had  to  exist 
before  I  could  ever  arrange  things  with  Fede." 

**  As  which  ? "  Sir  Emilius  asked,  with  a 
skeptical  twinkle.  Sir  Emilius  declined  to 
believe  in  anything. 

*'  Oh,  I'm  not  talking  to  you,  Uncle  Mill," 
the  young  man  answered,  half  flushing  with 
pride.  '*  I'm  talking  to  my  mother.  And  you 
see,  mother,  I  could  never  had  fallen  so  much  in 
love  with  Fede  if  she  hadn't  been  a  Florentine. 


Enter  Hubert.  47 

To  be  Dante's  fellow-tovvnsvvoman,  you  know 
— what  a  privilege  !  It's  the  Itahan  strain  in 
her  that  gives  her  half  her  attractiveness,  and 
the  English  the  other  half.  Then,  I  couldn't 
have  met  her  if  she  hadn't  come  to  England. 
And  if  her  mother  hadn't  happened  to  be  an 
Englishwoman  married  to  an  Italian,  Fede 
would  never  have  been  sent  to  Oxford.  Again, 
if  I  had  taken  that  scholarship  at  Trinity  in- 
stead of  at  Balliol,  I  would  have  settled  down 
at  Cambridge,  and  therefore  never  have  met 
Fede.  So  see  by  how  beautiful  a  concaten- 
ation of  events  it's  all  been  arranged  that  Fede 
and  I,  the  exact  two  people  intended  by  nature 
for  one  another,  should  meet  at  the  right  time, 
and  spring  at  one  another  like  magnet  to 
magnet." 

Mrs.  Egremont  sighed.  A  thought  flashed 
through  her  mind.  "  The  very  words,"  she 
said  to  herself,  **  his  father  would  have  spoken  !'* 
And  she  sighed  inaudibly. 

But  the  man  of  science  was  up  in  arms  at 
once.  **  Now,  for  a  physiologist,"  Sir  Emilius 
said,  with  didactic  forefinger — *'  and  you  are 
a  physiologist — I  call  that  about  as  absurd  an 
idea  as  ever  was  ventilated.  Unsubstantial, 
gaseous  !  What's  the  matter  with  yoii  is,  that 
the  poet  in  you  keeps  getting  the  better  of  the 
anatomist.  Can't  you  see,  my  dear  Hubert, 
the  instinct  is  the  only  fundamental  reality  in 
all  this  business  ? — the  instinct  to  mate  and  to 


48  A  Splendid  Sin. 

continue  the  species  ?  The  particular  object 
on  which  it  expends  itself  is  all  pure  accident. 
A  bud  reaches  the  stage  at  which  the  flower 
^i///5/ expand,  and  it  expands  accordingly.  A 
man  reaches  the  stage  at  which  he  must  fall  in 
love,  and  he  falls  in  love  accordingly.  There's 
no  more  in  it  than  that— a  common  result  of 
pure  human  heredity." 

"  But  not  every  girl "  Hubert  began. 

Sir  Emilius  snapped  his  fingers  with  sub- 
dued impatience.  **  Don't  talk  nonsense  to 
me,  sir,"  he  said.  "  It's  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff. 
You  fall  in  love  with  the  girls  you  see  ;  I  know 
that  very  well.  How  the  dickens  can  you  fall 
in  love  with  the  girls  you  doii't  see  ? "  And 
he  snapped  his  jaw  firmly. 

Hubert  gazed  up  at  the  sky  through  his  half- 
closed  eyelids.     Red  rifts  of  cloud  flecked  it. 

"  My  dear  uncle,"  he  answered,  *'  if  the  poet 
in  me  gets  the  better  of  the  anatomist,  doesn't 
the  anatomist  in  yott  get  the  better  of  the  poet  ? 
Quite  too  much  the  better  ?  Can't  you  see  in 
turn  that  the  world  you  ignore  is  every  bit  as 
real,  every  bit  as  important,  as  the  world  you 
acknowledge  ? " 

Sir  Emilius  shook  his  head.  "  No,  I  can't," 
he  responded,  testily.  "  I  say,  you  fell  in  love 
with  the  little  Italian  girl  because  you  met  her  ; 
you  didn't  meet  her  because  you  were  pre- 
destined by  nature  to  fall  in  love  with  her." 

Hubert  turned  the  subject.     He  was  a  con- 


Enter  Hubert.  49 

sistent  determinist,  and  it  is  not  worth  while 
for  dcterminists  to  argue.  **  My  one  fear  now," 
he  said,  "  is  about  the  Marchese." 

**  So  is  mine."  Sir  EmiHus  assented  with 
promptitude. 

"  A  Florentine  gentleman  of  the  oldest  de- 
scent," Hubert  mused  on,  stroking  his  mother's 
hand  in  his.  **  It  seems  so  presumptuous  of 
me  !  " 

**  To  take  his  daughter  off  his  hands,"  Sir 
Emilius  answered,  smiling.  "  I  didn't  mean 
quite  what  you  mean,  Hubert.  A  Florentine 
nobleman  is  generally  poor,  and  always  grasp- 
ing. I  meant  I  had  my  doubts  as  to  his  sol- 
vency and  respectability."  For  Sir  Emilius, 
being  a  true-born  Briton,  had  a  low  opinion  of 
mere  Foreigners. 

**  Why,  the  Tornabuoni  were  great  folk  in 
Florence,"  Hubert  cried,  astonished,  "  when 
the  Egremonts  were  nothing  more  than  Lan- 
cashire farmers  !  He  may  consider  me — as  I 
am — whole  worlds  beneath  Fede." 

"  He  may  think  small  beer  of  our  English 
gentility,  no  doubt,"  Sir  Emilius  answered, 
*'  but  he'll  think  precious  well  of  our  English 
consols,  you  may  be  certain,  Hubert.  They 
touched  114  yesterday,  I  see  by  the  Standard. 
I  know  these  Florentines,  my  boy  ;  and  you 
may  take  my  word  for  it  they  are  not  the 
romantic  Italians  of  Covent  Garden  opera. 
They  know  the  precise  worth  of  twenty  shillings 
4 


50  A  Splendid  Sin. 

sterling  in  King  Humbert's  currency  to  half  a 
centesimo." 

"  Well,  I'm  anxious,  at  any  rate,  to  see  Fede's 
father,"  Hubert  went  on,  gazing  upward.  He 
had  lived  so  frankly  in  the  bosom  of  his  family 
that  he  had  none  of  the  niaiivaise  lionte  so 
many  young  men  feel  in  discussing  their 
future  wife  before  their  relations.  "  So  much 
depends  upon  one's  father  and  mother  !  " 

'*  Everything,"  Sir  Emilius  assented,  prompt- 
ly. There,  he  was  entirely  at  one  with  his 
nephew. 

"  The  Marchese  must  be  a  splendid  and 
high-minded  man,"  Hubert  continued,  shading 
his  eyes  with  his  hand  as  he  gazed  at  the 
mountains.  "  I  only  wish  I  could  ever  have 
seen  my  own  father.  One  would  like  to  know 
what  noble  characteristics,  what  intellectual 
traits  one  has  a  chance  of  inheriting  ;  for  to  a 
physiologist,  of  course,  heredity's  everything." 

Sir  Emilius  w^as  just  about  to  cut  short  this 
awkward  colloquy  by  observing  diplomatically, 
"  Colonel  Egremont  was  one  of  the  finest-built 
soldiers  in  the  British  army,"  when  his  sister 
anticipated  him  by  answering  in  his  place, 
"Your  father  was  a  man  to  be  proud  of, 
Hubert." 

Sir  Emilius  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  glanced 
hard  at  his  sister.  He  did  not  exclaim,  "  Eh  ? 
what  !  "  He  merely  whistled  a  tune  unobtru- 
sively.    But  he  uttered  not  a  word.    He  would 


Enter  Hubert.  51 

not  interfere  in  so  delicate  a  matter.  Still, 
it  was  all  very  well  to  say  in  the  abstract, 
"  Honor  thy  father  and  tliy  mother  ;  "  but 
how  any  one  who  had  ever  known  Walter 
Egremont  could,  for  a  moment,  describe  him 
as  "a  man  to  be  proud  of,"  passed  Sir  Emilius's 
comprehension.  However,  it  was  Julia's  busi- 
ness, not  his  ;  and  as  long  as  she  chose  to  keep 
Hubert  in  ignorance  of  his  father's  real  history. 
Sir  Emilius  did  not  feel  quixotically  inclined 
to  enlighten  him.  Nevertheless,  he  rose,  and, 
still  whistling  to  himself,  moved  away  some 
twenty  yards,  picking  a  late  autumn  flower  or 
two  ostentatiously  as  he  w^ent,  lest  it  should 
embarrass  Julia  to  know  he  w^as  mentally  crit- 
icising her  veracity. 

Mother  and  son  were  left  alone.  There  was 
a  moment's  pause.  Then  Mrs.  Egremont  be- 
gan again.  "  Though  I  sometimes  fancy, 
Hubert,"  she  said,  in  a  grave  voice,  "you 
make  too  much  of  heredity." 

"You  can't  make  too  much  of  it,"  Hubert 
answered,  with  decision.  "In  mankind,  it's 
omnipotent.  My  studies  at  my  hospital,  and 
afterwards  my  psychological  observations  at 
the  asylum,  have  showm  me,  on  the  contrary, 
that  not  even  men  of  science  themselves  have 
yet  appreciated  the  whole  w^onder,  the  full 
marvel  and  mystery  of  heredity.  Look  at  this 
case,  for  example — one  only  out  of  hundreds. 
I  had  a  man  on  my  list  who  had  always  kept  a 


52  A  Splendid  Sin. 

diary  from  the  time  he  was  twenty.  He  was  a 
medical  man,  and  he  noted  everything  with 
medical  accuracy.  At  four-and-twenty  and 
two  weeks,  he  lost  his  first  tooth — the  second 
left  molar  in  the  upper  jaw.  He  had  two  twin 
sons.  At  four-and-twenty  and  three  weeks,  one 
of  the  twdns  lost  his  first  tooth  in  turn.  I  asked 
which  tooth,  and  found  it  was  the  second  left 
molar  in  the  upper  jaw.  The  other  twin's  teeth 
were  apparently  sound  ;  but,  a  fortnight  later,  he 
had  a  violent  toothache.  I  inquired  in  what 
tooth— exactly  as  I  expected — the  second  left 
molar  !  That's  the  kind  of  result  that  has  met  me 
every  day  in  the  course  of  my  researches.  We 
seem  like  clocks,  set  each  to  run  our  appointed 
course  in  so  many  years  and  days  and  minutes. 
1  know  it  so  well  now,  that  I  almost  feel  at  times 
as  if  I  had  no  individuality  at  all  of  my  own  ; 
I  recognize  myself  as  nothing  more  in  the  end 
than  the  sum  of  my  joint  parental  tendencies." 

''  It  seems  a  dangerous  doctrine,"  Mrs.  Egre- 
mont  murmured,  with  the  feminine  habit  of 
seeing  everything  in  an  ethical  light.  *'  It 
may  lead  to  fatalism,  and  strike  at  the  root  of 
all  moral  endeavor." 

"  If  it  is  the  truth,  it  is  not  dangerous," 
Hubert  answered,  with  firmer  faith.  "  The 
truth,  dearest,  is  never  dangerous.  Truth 
never  fears  truth.  Only  a  lie  is  liable  to  lead 
us  into  error." 

Mrs.  Egremont  winced.     "  Perhaps  so,"  she 


Enter  Hubert.  53 

answered,  with  a  pang  of  doubt.  *'  But  are 
we  all  of  us  strong  enough  for  the  truth,  my 
boy  ?  I  sometimes  feel  as  if— as  if  it  might 
crush  and  kill  us." 

Hubert  gazed  at  her  tenderly.  "  Dear 
mother,"  he  said,  with  an  affectionate  smile, 
^^ you  of  all  women  to  urge  such  a  fallacy  ! 
Why,  you  couldn't  tell  anything  but  the  truth 
if  you  tried  !  You  must  be  true  !  The  truth 
is  native  to  you." 

His  mother  winced  again.  ''Well,  I  hope 
you  will  be  satisfied  with  Fede's  father,"  she 
said,  very  slowly,  to  change  the  subject. 

"  I  hope  Fede's  father  will  be  satisfied  with 
me;  that's  more  to  the  point,"  her  son  an- 
swered, gaily,  bending  his  arm,  and  feeling  the 
biceps.  "I  shall  do  my  best  to  please  him. 
I  shall  make  myself  all  things  to  all  men  to  suit 
him.  After  all,  the  Egremonts  are  English 
gentlefolk ;  and  you  have  one  of  the  prettiest 
places  in  Devonshire.  I  don't  see  why  he 
shouldn't  be  ready  to  accept  me  as  a  son-in- 
law.  Though,  to  be  sure,  the  Tornabuoni 
were  great  lords  in  Florence  before  we  and 
our  kind  were  ever  dreamt  of." 

Mrs.  Egremont  rose  again.  "  We  ought  to 
be  getting  back  to  the  inn,"  she  said,  wearily. 
"  It  has  been  hot  to-day,  and  I  feel  rather  tired. 
I  don't  know  v/hy,  but  I  always  feel  tired  on 
the  Continent  nowadays.'"' 

**  Not  only  tired,  but  frightened,  I  fancy," 


54  A  Splendid  Sin. 

Hubert  went  on,  without  attaching  much  im- 
portance to  his  words.  "  It  seems  to  me  you're 
half  afraid  of  foreigners.  Uncle  Mill  despises 
them  :  you  seem  to  fear  them.  Come  along, 
Uncle  Mill  ;  we're  going  back  to  the  Black 
Eagle." 

Mrs.  Egremont's  look  was  certainly  one  of 
fright  as  Hubert  said  those  words.  It  was 
clear  he  had  stirred  some  deep  chord  within 
her.  She  walked  back  to  the  inn  by  her  son's 
side  in  silence.  When  they  reached  the  door, 
the  Tornabuoni  had  ju^t  gone  in  to  their  rooms 
from  the  balcony.  And  the  concierge,  as 
directed,  said  nothing  as  to  their  arrival. 

Sir  Emilius  and  his  sister  strolled  into  the 
hotel,  leaving  Hubert  on  the  veranda.  While 
they  went  up  in  the  lift,  the  doctor  turned  a 
searching  glance  on  Mrs.  Egremont. 

"  Do  you  think,  Julia,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  it's 
quite  wise — never  to  tell  him  ?" 

Mrs.  Egremont  flushed  up,  and  evaded  the 
question.  "  I  have  told  him — as  much  as  it's 
well  for  him  to  know,"  she  answered.  She 
paused  for  a  second,  then  she  began  again. 
**  Truth,"  she  mused,  "  is  relative.  He  knows 
the  truth — as  far  as  I  conceive  it." 

**  Very  relative  indeed,"  Sir  Emilius  assented. 
"  So  relative,  that  it  seems  to  come  out  quite 
upside  down  in  some  relations,  doesn't  it  ? " 

Mrs.  Egremont  said  nothing  :  for  she  knew 
when  to  be  silent. 


An  Officer  and  a  Gentleman.  55 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AN   OFFICER   AND   A   GENTLEMAN. 

It  was  still  day.     The  delicate  rose-colored 
glow  within  rather  than  upon  the  ice  of  the 
Alps  had  not  yet  given  place  to  the  cold  steel- 
blue  of  twilight.     Hubert,  weary  from  hischmb 
waited  outside  in  the  cool  for  a  minute  or  two 
calling  for  a  glass  of  light  beer  to  refresh  him 
alter  his  toil  before  going  in  to  his  room  to  get 
ready  for  dinner.     Autumn  was  in  the  air,  but 
the  day   was  summer-like.     As  he  sat  at  the 
table  outside  the  veranda  and  drank  his  lager 
the  concierge  came  down  and  began  talking  to 
him  quite  humanly.     Towards  the  end  of  the 
season,  indeed,  even  a  concierge  often  discovers 
unsuspected  human  traits  that  are  really  re- 
freshing.    He  unbends  from  the  long  restraint 
of  summer. 

Beautiful  lights  just  now  on  the  Himmel- 
berg,  sir,"  he  said,  turning  to  Hubert.  ''  It's 
a  glorious  mountain.  Such  a  rearing  mass  » 
C:ro  where  you  will  in  the  world,  you'll  find 
nothing  lovelier." 

*'  You  know  the  world,  then  ?  "     Hubert  in- 


56  A  Splendid  Sin. 

terposed,  smiling,  and  amused  at  his  air  of 
universal  travel. 

"  I  ought  to  know  it,"  the  concierge  retorted, 
speaking  fluently  in  English,  *'  for  I've  lived  in 
half  the  best  hotels  in  Europe." 

"  For  example  ?  "  Hubert  queried. 

The  concierge  ran  them  over,  ransacking  the 
distant  cells  of  his  memory.  *'  The  Metropole 
in  London,"  he  said  ;  *'  I  was  interpreter  there  ; 
the  Continental,  the  Grand,  and  the  Chatham 
in  Paris  ;  the  Italic  in  Rome  ;  the  Hotel  de 
Baviere  in  Munich  ;  the  Bristol  at  Naples- 
half-a-dozen  others." 

"  Why,  you  know  the  Continent  well,"  Hu- 
bert observed,  surprised  to  find  the  man  so 
widely  diffused. 

"Yes,  and  a  little  beyond  it— Shepheard's  at 
Cairo,  the  Kirsch  at  Algiers,  the  Brunswick  at 
Boston,  Cook's  Hotel  at  Jerusalem.  Yet,  go 
where  you  will  in  the  world — I  say  it  still— you 
won't  find  a  finer  view  anywhere  than  the 
Himmelberg." 

"  But  you're  not  a  Bernese  Swiss,"  Hubert 
interposed,  eyeing  him.  "  I  can  see  that 
instantly." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  the  concierge  asked,  surprised 
in  turn  at  his  visitor's  confidence. 

"Oh,  I  can  tell  it  at  a  glance  by  your  build 
and  features.  You  come  from  the  Orisons, 
I'll  bet ;  you  were  brought  up  Roumansch- 
speaking." 


An  Officer  and  a  Gentleman.  57 

"  Quite  right,"  the  concierge  answered,  with 
a  smile  of  amusement  at  the  young  English- 
man's penetration.  "  I  come  from  the  Grisons, 
as  you  say  ;  I  have  the  face  and  figure  of  the 
Rhaetian  mountaineers.  But  how  did  you 
guess  I  was  brought  up  Roumansch-speaking  ? " 

"  If  you  were  a  true  Bernese,"  Hubert  an- 
swered, after  a  second's  reflectii3n,  "  you  would 
have  a  more  distinctive  German  accent — the 
Thuringian  accent — in  speaking  English.  But 
you  speak  it  admirably — as  most  of  your 
countrymen  do  ;  and  what  foreign  tinge  you 
have — very  little  indeed — is  not  Thuringian  at 
all,  but  belongs  to  the  type  of  the  Latin 
races." 

The  concierge  w^as  flattered.  He  drew  him- 
self up  at  once.  **  You  are  right,"  he  answered 
again.  *'We  of  the  Rhaetian  Alps  all  know 
our  descent,  and  all  are  proud  of  it.  It  is  a 
thing  to  remember.  We  are  the  original 
Etruscans  !  " 

"  You  are,"  Hubert  replied.  "  And,  if  I  may 
venture  to  say  it,  only  in  the  Grisons  w^ould  a 
man  in  your  position  be  likely  to  know  it." 

"  That  is  true,  too,"  the  concierge  admitted. 
"  We  are  like  your  own  Scotch.  We  are 
all  of  us  educated.  And  we  learn  languages 
easily.  You  see,  our  native  Roumansch  stands 
nearest  of  any  modern  Latin  dialect  to  the 
original  Latin.  Therefore  wq  learn  French, 
Italian,  Spanish  easily ;  because  the  roots  of 


58  A  Splendid  Sin. 

all  of  them  are  contained  in  purer  forms  in  our 
own  dialect.  And  we  speak  German,  too,  for 
the  most  part  from  childhood  ;  so  that  lan- 
guages come  naturally  to  us.  Besides  which," 
and  he  drew  himself  up  with  a  curious  pride, 
'*  we  inherit  the  old  Etruscan  intelligence." 

He  spoke  in  quite  another  tone,  now  he  had 
begun  to  discuss  a  subject  which  interested 
him,  from  the  servile  accent,  half  cringing,  half 
familiar,  which  was  habitual  to  him  in  the 
exercise  of  his  office  as  concierge.  He  had 
dropped  the  recollection  of  a  distinction  of  class. 
He  saw  that  his  hearer  was  interested  ;  and  he 
went  off  into  that  not  unnatural  eulogy  of  his 
native  canton  which  every  intelligent  Grau- 
biinder  always  delivers  to  all  willing  listeners. 

"  Then  you  saw  I  was  from  the  Grisons  ? " 
he  said,  inquiringly,  at  last. 

**  Yes,"  Hubert  answered.  "  I  was  sure  of 
it.  I  gathered  it  both  from  your  bodily  ap- 
pearance and  your  liquid  accent.  You  have 
the  true  Etruscan  build  and  features,  and  the 
Etruscan  lips.  You  remind  me  exactly  of  the 
figures  one  sees  on  the  Etruscan  sarcophagi — 
strong,  short,  and  thickset." 

"That  is  so  once  more,"  the  concierge  as- 
serted, delighted.  "  Have  you  ever  seen  the 
tombs  of  the  Volumnii,  near  Assisi  ? " 

"  I  visited  them  last  year,"  Hubert  answered, 
growing  interested. 

"  Well,  do  you  remember  the  sculptured 


An  Officer  and  a  Gentleman.  59 

nobles  all  carved  in  white  stone  who  lounged 
on  the  lids  ?  There  was  one  of  them  near  the 
door,  an  old  Etruscan  chief,  who  might  easily 
have  been  taken  for  a  portrait  of  my  father." 

"  That  would  not  be  surprising,"  Hubert 
replied.  "  I  know  such  cases  elsewhere.  A 
wooden  statue  belonging  to  the  old  Egyptian 
Empire,  six  thousand  years  ago,  was  dug  up 
at  Memphis,  and  it  exactly  resembled  the  Arab 
sheikh  of  the  neighboring  modern  Egyptian 
village.  I  have  studied  these  questions  of 
heredity  for  some  years,  and  I  find  that  when 
one  can  compare  family  portraits  together  for 
several  generations,  the  most  surprising  like- 
nesses often  reveal  themselves  between  kins- 
men who  are  separated  from  one  another  by 
centuries." 

"That  is  so,  I  know,"  the  concierge  answered, 
without  any  consciousness  of  obtruding  into  a 
scientific  field  where  his  observation  was  scanty. 
"  For  in  the  Grisonsto  this  day  I  find  hundreds 
of  faces  which  exactly  reproduce  the  Etruscan 
statues,  and  the  wall-paintings  on  the  tombs  I 
have  been  to  see  at  Corneto  and  Volaterra." 

Where  else  in  the  world,  Hubert  thought 
to  himself — except,  perhaps,  as  the  concierge 
said,  in  Scotland — would  a  man  of  the  people 
have  observed  or  remembered  such  a  class  of 
facts  as  this  Rhaetian  peasant  ? 

Hubert  was  just  going  on  to  hazard  a  guess 
at  the  nationality  of  the  various  waiters  and 


6o  A  Splendid  Sin. 

chambermaids — for  he  had  a  curious  knack 
of  jumping  at  correct  conclusions  on  these 
matters — when  their  attention  was  suddenly 
diverted  by  the  appearance  of  a  stranger,  who 
wound  slowly  down  the  dusty  high  road  from 
the  direction  of  the  Gotthard. 

He  was  a  singular-looking  figure,  very  tall 
and  erect,  of  military  bearing,  with  a  knapsack 
on  his  back,  and  a  hat  stuck  jauntily  on  one 
side  of  his  head  in  an  ostentatiously  rakish 
fashion.  From  a  little  distance,  he  looked  at 
first  sight  like  an  English  gentleman  ;  seen 
nearer,  he  still  preserved  some  relics  of  gentility, 
almost  obscured,  however,  by  the  shabbiness 
of  his  dress  and  the  obvious  marks  of  vulgar 
dissipation  on  his  bloated  features.  Even  his 
erectness  itself  turned  out  on  closer  view  to 
be  somewhat  deceptive  ;  the  man  held  him- 
self straight,  it  is  true,  with  an  almost  exaggerated 
air  of  self-respect  ;  yet  his  back  was  bent  at 
the  neck,  and  his  knees  were  uncertain.  The 
bror  ^  ind  cynical  face  had  once  most  probably 
been  i..iiidsome  ;  now,  drink  and  hard  living 
had  utterly  degraded  it.  As  he  strolled  up  to 
the  table,  wnth  a  roll  in  his  gait,  trying  his  best 
to  assume  an  attitude  of  careless  ease,  Hubert 
saw  at  a  glance  he  was  indeed  an  English 
gentleman — most  likely  an  officer — but  in  the 
very  last  stage  of  drunken  downfall. 

The  stranger  nodded,  and  flung  his  knapsack 
on  the  table  by  Hubert's  side.     "  Phew  !     Hot 


An  Officer  and  a  Gentleman.  6i 

walking,"  he  said,  mopping  his  mouth  and 
forehead  with  a  rather  dirty  handkerchief. 
He  concealed  his  still  dirtier  cuffs  by  a  little 
jerk  under  his  sleeves  with  a  dexterity  which 
argued  long  use  and  practice.  '*  I  ve  just 
tramped  over  the  Col  from  Goeschenen." 

"  It's  a  beautiful  w^alk,"  Hubert  answered, 
coldly,  finishing  his  beer  and  half  rising. 

"  It's  a  damned  hot  walk,"  the  newcomer 
responded,  with  a  quaint  air  of  easy  honhomie. 
**  It  may  be  beautiful  :  I'm  not  much  judge  of 
that,  for  I  never  noticed  it  ;  but  I  know  it's 
confoundedly  long  and  hilly.  And  the  dust — 
oh,  I'll  trouble  you  !  Haven't  had  such  a 
pull  for  close  on  twenty  years.  As  an  officer 
and  a  gentleman,  I'm  unaccustomed  to  walking ; 
I  take  carriage  exercise."  He  drew  himself 
up,  hid  one  shabby  trouser  behind  the  other 
leg,  and  turned  to  the  concierge.  "  Here  you, 
young  fellow,"  he  said,  in  an  overbearing  tone  ; 
"  got  anything  to  drink,  eh  ?  " 

The  concierge  surveyed  him  contemptuously 
from  head  to  foot.  The  stranger's  clothes 
were  certainl}^  much  more  than  merely  dusty  : 
they  were  threadbare  and  dirty.  "You  can 
call  the  waiter,"  the  concierge  said,  with  slow 
distinctness,  "  and  give  him  your  order  : 
whatever  you  like — coffee,  lemonade,  seltzer, 
soda-water." 

The  officer  and  gentleman  flung  him  back 
his    contempt    with    interest.      "  Lemonade  ! 


62  A  Splendid  Sin. 

Seltzer  !  Soda-water  !  "  he  cried.  "  Do  I  look 
like  a  teetotaller  ?  I  suppose  you  take  me  for 
one  of  Dr.  Lunn's  psalm-singing  Grindel- 
walders  !  No,  sir.  Not  soda-water.  I'm  not 
taking  any.  Brandy,  neat  brandy,  the  best 
cognac  you've  got— and  plenty  of  it  !  " 

The  concierge  answered  nothing.  He  just 
pressed  a  little  hand-bell.  "  Alphonse,"  he 
said  to  the  close-cropped  waiter  who  answered 
it,  "  take  this — gentleman's  order." 

The  newcomer,  quite  undisconcerted  at  the 
tone,  repeated  his  instructions  in  excellent 
French. 

"  Cognac,  monsieur  ;  oiu\  monsieur,"  the 
waiter  answered  mechanically,  with  a  glance 
at  the  trousers. 

He  turned  on  his  heel.  The  stranger  called 
out  after  him.  ''  And  look  here,"  he  added  in 
English,  ''  while  you're  about  it,  young  man, 
you  may  as  well  bring  me  some  absinthe  and 
some  vermouth." 

"  Instead  of  the  cognac,  monsieur  ? "  the 
waiter  asked,  hesitating. 

"  Instead  of  the  cognac  !  "  the  newcomer 
replied  angrily.  "Who  countermanded  the 
cognac,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  No,  jackanapes, 
no  ;  ivith  the  cognac,  with  it— all  three  of  them 
together  !  Why  don't  you  go  and  get  them 
when  you're  told,  you  fool,  instead  of  standing 
there  and  grinning  like  a  laughing  jackass  ? " 

The  waiter  drew  back,  surprised  at  the  un- 


An  Officer  and  a  Gentleman.  63 

wonted  vigor  of  his  customer's  language. 
"  Old,  monsieur  !  Mcrci,  monsieur  !  "  he  an- 
swered, taken  aback,  but  official  as  ever. 

The  boisterous  stranger  turned  with  an  inane 
and  placid  smile  to  Hubert.  "  The  image 
doesn't  know  his  work,"  he  observed,  with 
military  swagger.  "  Never  heard  of  absinthe 
and  brandy  before,  apparently.  Makes  a 
splendid  drink.  Has  a  singular  effect  on  the 
epigastrium,  that  mixture.  Warms  a  man 
when  he's  cold  ;  cools  him  when  he's  hot : 
seems  to  act  sympathetically  on  the  peripheral 
nerve-terminals." 

Hubert  caught  at  the  word.  '*  Peripheral 
nerve-terminals  ?  "  he  said.  **  Epigastrium  ! 
Why,  you  speak  like  a  physiologist  !  " 

The  stranger  vaulted  on  to  the  table  with  a 
bound.  He  was  not  without  a  strange  sort  of 
clumsy  agility.  He  sat  there,  smiling.  "Well, 
I'm  a  military  man  by  trade,"  he  said,  after  a 
pause  ;  "  in  point  of  fact,  a  colonel.  But  I'm 
a  little  bit  of  most  things  in  an  amateur  way — 
from  a  hoary  old  reprobate  to  a  man  of  science. 
Especially  in  the  direction  of  the  hoary  old  re- 
probate. I  pride  myself  on  that.  I  can  give 
points,  as  a  reprobate,  to  any  man  of  my  age  and 
weight  in  the  service — and  beat  him  easily." 

"  So  I  should  think,"  Hubert  said,  with  a 
curlof  the  lips,  half  rising  to  go,  yet  restrained 
by  the  curious  interest  of  the  man's  degraded 
personality.     "  You  look  the  character." 


64  A  Splendid  Sin. 

**  Ha,  you're  a  good  one  for  judging  at  first 
sight,"  the  Colonel  answered,  unoffended  by 
Hubert's  perfect  frankness.  "  You  put  your 
finger  on  the  place.  That  touches  the  spot, 
sir  ;  that  touches  the  spot,  as  they  say  in  the 
advertisement.  This  is  not  mere  make-up. 
It  runs  in  the  blood  with  all  my  family  to  be 
hoary  old  reprobates."  He  bit  his  thumb. 
"  We've  been  hoary  old  reprobates,  now,  for 
five  generations." 

"You  bear  the  obvious  traces  of  it,"  Hubert 
answered,  with  quiet  conhdence.  For  the 
stranger's  face  was  both  red  and  swollen. 

"  That's  so,"  the  Colonel  continued,  slapping 
one  flabby  thigh  with  his  open  hand  ;  **  you're 
a  man  of  a  penetration,  sir.  You  know  what's 
wiiat  when  you  see  it.  We're  citizens  of  Bo- 
hemia, root  and  stock,  my  family.  We  go  to 
the  dogs  with  accelerated  speed  in  each  new 
century." 

As  he  spoke,  the  waiter  returned  with  the 
brandy  and  absinthe.  "  Shall  I  pour  them  out, 
monsieur  ?"  he  asked,  holding  up  a  liqueur 
glass. 

The  Colonel  drew  out  a  single  eyeglass,  fixed 
it  solemnly  in  its  place,  and  regarded  him 
through  it  for  some  minutes  with  the  attentive 
air  with  which  one  regards  some  curious  but 
noxious  insect.  "  Je  vousremercie,''  he  said  at 
last,  with  quaint  mock  politeness;  ^^ je  verse 
hioiyneme,  imbecile  ! "     He  glanced  at  Hubert. 


An  Officer  and  a  Gentleman.  65 

"  A  petit  verrc  for  me  I "  he  cried.  "  What  rot  ! 
This  is  how  /  take  it  !  "  He  seized  the  small 
glass  of  cognac  and  emptied  it  into  a  tumbler. 
Then  he  poured  out  about  three  times  as  much 
more  from  the  decanter  on  top  of  it.  After 
that,  he  lifted  the  vermouth  bottle  and  the  ab- 
sinthe and  poured  a  wine-glassful  or  so  of  each 
on  top  of  the  brandy.  He  looked  at  it  all  ad- 
miringly against  the  dying  light  in  the  western 
sky.  "  That's  the  sort  of  thing,"  he  said  at  last, 
*'  to  put  the  blood  in  circulation." 

"But  you  can't  like  it  so,"  Hubert  cried. 
**  Such  a  nasty  mixture." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  the  Colonel  replied, 
tossing  it  off  at  a  gulp.  "  I  don't  like  it.  I 
love  it.  I'm  a  modest  man  in  most  w^ays,  and 
I  admit  I  have  my  faults  ;  but  on  the  question 
of  my  own  likes  and  dislikes,  I  submit,  I  can 
claim  to  be  the  first  living  authority  in  Europe." 

He  turned  the  glass  upside  down,  and  laid 
it  empty  on  the  marble  table.  "  That's  won- 
derful," Hubert  said,  "  wonderful  !  How  long 
do  you  reckon  to  live  at  that  rate,  may  I  vent- 
ure to  ask  you  ? " 

The  Colonel's  good-humor  w^as  absolutely 
imperturbable.  "Well,  my  grandfather  died 
of  it  at  eighty,"  he  answ^ered,  in  a  most  cheer- 
ful voice,  "  and  my  father  at  seventy.  I  reck- 
on myself  to  last,  with  luck,  till  sixty  or  there- 
abouts. Though,  having  been  deucedly  ill- 
treated  by  an  unnatural  wife,  I  may  go  even 
5 


()()  A  Splciulid  Sin. 

sooner.  It's  an  intorcslin.^  example  of  what 
Darwin  calls  the  law  ot  aeeelerated  inheritance." 
And  he  ponied  hinisell  ont  another  small  ^l^i^^ 
of  brandy. 

The  cmit>ns  gleams  of  science  inleresled 
Ihibert.  "  Yon  are  never  drnnk,  1  snppose  ?  " 
he  remarket!,  drawing  back  with  some  nalnral 
disgnst,  yet  regarding  him  as  a  valnable  ob- 
ject of  study,  like  a  germ  under  the  micros- 
cc^pe. 

"Not  c^ften,  yon  bet,"  the  Colonel  answered, 
with  candor.  He  spoke  with  deep  regret. 
"  It  don't  often  run  to  it,"  he  nuntunred  quite 
sadly.  "  You  see,  it  costs  a  good  deal  to  make 
me  drunk  nowadays  ;  and  times  being  hard 
and  wcMiien  cruel,  I  seldom  have  cash  in  hand 
to  spend  upon  a  manful  and  resolute  attempt 
in  that  direction — except  about  quarter-days, 
when  my  wife  pays  up  my  miserable  pittance. 
Though  now  and  then  a  friend  is  kind  enough 
to  defray  the  expense  of  the  experiment  ;  but 
it's  long— and  costly." 

"And  deadly,"   Hubert  added. 

The  Colonel  acquiesced.  "  It's  killing  me," 
he  admitted,  "  of  course  ;  but,  as  I  often  say, 
we  must  all  of  us  die  ;  and  how  can  man  die 
better  than  when  he  dies  enjoying  himself  ? " 

"Alcoholic  narcosis,  I  suppose?"  Hubert 
murmured,  looking  hard  at  him  with  sup- 
pressed disgust. 

"The  very  word,"  the  Colonel  cried,  holding 


All  OHiccr  and  ;i  (icnlU'mati. 


f'7 


out  one  hand  with  evident  pride  lo  show  how 
it  trembled.  Alehohe  nareosis.  Yon  hit  it 
lirsl  time.  Wliieh  will  yon  take,  a  eif^ar  or  a 
eocoa-nnt  ?" 

I  lis  vnlgar  leer  was  hatefnl  to  Ifnhert  ;  yet 
the  seientifie  interest  ol  the  ease  retained  him, 
"  Well,  yon're  frank  about  it,  any  way,"  he 
observed,  hall  an.gry  with  himseh  for  eontinn- 
iii.tj  to  talk  with  so  abjeet  a  ereatnre. 

The  Colonel  drew  himself  np.  There;  were 
remnants  of  a  gentleman  and  a  handsome  man 
about  him.  "  A  soldier,"  he  said,  with  a  sort 
of  malieions  moek-dignity,  "  shonld  always 
be  frank.  And  1  Matter  myself  I've  served  the 
country  with  distinction.  I  never  (|nail  under 
fire.  Drink's  my  worst  enemy — and  I  face  it 
daily."  lie  poured  himself  out  a  little  more 
neat  brandy. 

The  concierge  motioned  cjuietly  to  the  waiter 
to  remove  the  bottle,  P)nt  the  Colonel  was  too 
quick  for  him.  He  caught  at  it  with  a  rapid 
clutch  and  clasped  it  to  his  bosom.  "  No,  no, 
my  friend,"  he  said  smiling.  "  We  are  always 
told  to  love  our  enemies.  Would  yon  make 
me  a  heathen  ?"  And  he  clung  to  it  affeclion- 
ately. 

"You  know  youVc  killing  yourself?"  Hu- 
bert put  in. 

The  Colonel  shrugged  his  sliouldcrs.  His 
manners,  Hubert  had  noticed  from  the  first, 
were  much  Italianatc,  as  of  a  man   who  had 


68  A  Splendid  Sin. 

spent  many  years  in  Italy.  "  Of  course/'  he 
said,  **  I'm  killing  myself.  'Tis  a  soldier's 
business.  I  lead  a  forlorn  hope  against  the 
enemy's  guns  ten  times  a  day."  He  made  a 
lunge  with  an  imaginary  sword  at  the  brandy 
bottle.  "What  does  that  matter?"  he  went 
on.  We're  all  of  us  dying — all  under  sentence 
of  death — you,  and  I,  and  the  rest  of  us — and 
what  difference  does  a  year  or  two  more  or  less 
make  to  us  ?  I  tell  you  w^hat,  my  dear  sir,  it 
was  a  fine  philosopher  who  first  said  those 
words.  *A  short  life  and  a  merry  one.'  He 
summed  up  in  one  phrase  the  wisdom  of 
centuries." 

Hubert  looked  at  him  with  a  mixture  of  curi- 
osity and  disgust.  The  stranger  sat  on  the 
table  still,  and  gazed  across  at  them  with  a 
hateful  smile  of  complacent  degradation.  His 
face  was  puffy.  The  eyes  were  red  and 
bleared  ;  the  lips  had  the  dark  blue  hue  of  the 
habitual  sot's.  Hubert  knew  the  type  well  ; 
he  had  studied  it  carefully  for  two  years  at  his 
hospital.  As  they  sat  and  faced  one  another 
Rosa  came  down  the  steps  with  a  message  for 
a  second.  **  Madame  has  left  her  bag,  mon- 
sieur," she  said  in  French  to  Hubert,  picking 
it  up  and  taking  it  off.  "She  sent  me  to  get 
it."  For  Hubert  had  carried  her  little  reticule 
home  for  her. 

The  Colonel,  as  he  called  himself,  turned 
to  the  girl  with  that  offensive  and  senile  leer 


An  Officer  and  a  Gentleman.  69 

which  no  man  can  endure  to  see  on  the  face 
of  another.  "By  Jove,  that's  a  good-looking 
young  woman  !  "  he  observed  in  English  to 
Hubert.  Then  he  added,  in  tolerable  German, 
"What  is  your  name,  my  dear  ?  "  ogling  her. 

Rosa  measured  him  with  her  eye  from  head 
to  foot,  severely.  "  My  name's  the  chamber- 
maid," she  answered,  with  a  toss  of  her  pretty 
head.  **  Ring  once  for  waiter  ;  twice  for 
boots  ;  three  times  for  chambermaid.  And 
when  I  know  your  number — I'll  take  care  some 
other  chambermaid  answers  it." 

The  "  hoary  old  reprobate  "  stared  after  her, 
astonished,  as  she  tripped  up  the  steps  with  an 
air  of  determination.  *'  God  bless  my  soul," 
he  cried,  *'  what  a  smart  young  w^oman  !  "  He 
jumped  from  the  table  and  stood  on  tip-toe 
gazing  after  her. 

The  episode,  however,  seemed  to  recall  to 
him  the  fact  that  he  was  in  search  of  a  lodging. 
**  I  want  a  room  here  to-night,  by  the  wa}^" 
he  said,  turning  at  last  to  the  concierge. 

'*  I'm  sorry,  sir,"  the  concierge  answered, 
in  his  most  official  tone,  *'  but — we're  full  up 
this  evening." 

The  Colonel  drew  back  and  surveyed  him 
admiringly.  '*  Young  fellow,"  he  said— though 
the  concierge  was  forty — "  you're  a  first-class 
liar  !  That's  very  well  tried — very  well  tried 
indeed — for  a  beginner.  If  you  go  on  like  that, 
you  ought  to  end  by  becoming  a  most  accom- 


70  A  Splendid  Sin. 

plished  diplomatist.  Be  ambassador  to  Russia. 
Do  you  expect  me  to  believe  that  every  bed  in 
this  house  is  full  in  the  beginning  of  October  ? 
If  so,  I  can  only  say  you've  mistaken  my  char- 
acter." 

He  strode  up  the  steps  and  entered  the 
hotel,  humming.  Hubert  did  not  follow  him. 
The  concierge  did— having  his  doubts  as  to 
the  coats  and  umbrellas  in  the  vestibule. 
When  he  reached  the  top  flight,  the  Colonel 
turned  to  him.  "  No  nonsense,  my  friend," 
he  said,  in  a  severer  tone  than  he  had  hitherto 
adopted.  "  I  want  a  room  in  this  hotel  to- 
night, and  I  mean  to  have  it.  You  have  plenty 
vacant ;  and  if  luggage  is  in  the  way,"  he 
glanced  at  his  knapsack  and  slapped  his  pocket, 
"  I'll  pay  beforehand  for  bed  and  breakfast." 

The  concierge  hesitated.  **  I  don't  know — " 
he  began. 

His  interlocutor  stopped  him  with  an  angry 
gesture.  "  Send  me  the  proprietor,"  he  said, 
assuming  the  air  of  a  great  gentleman.  ''  I 
propose  to  honor  his  hotel  with  my  patron- 
age." 

The  concierge  gave  way.  **  We  might  put 
you  in  seventy-two,"  he  said,  pretending  to 
consult  his  books,  and  looking  suspiciously  at 
the  hoary  old  reprobate.  ''  What  name  shall 
I  enter  ? " 

*'  What's  that  to  you  ? "  the  Colonel  answered, 
growing  redder  than  before.     "  I  pay  in  ad- 


An  Officer  and  a  Gentleman.  71 

vance,  I  tell  you.  He  pulled  out  a  worn  purse 
with  a  hole  in  its  side,  and  counted  a  few 
francs  into  the  concierge's  hand  with  the  mien 
of  a  millionaire.  "A  gentleman  is  a  gentle- 
man, in  spite  of  misfortunes,"  he  observed, 
sententiously,  "  and  wdll  not  submit  to  be  sat 
upon  by  a  lackey."  He  paused  a  moment, 
and  reflected.  Then  he  dropped  his  voice  a 
little.  '*  Anybody  of  the  name  of  Egremont 
in  the  hotel  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  confidential 
tone. 

"  Mrs.  Egremont  and  her  son,"  the  concierge 
replied,  a  trifle  astonished.  **  They  came  a 
week  ago.  That  was  young  Mr.  Egremont 
you  were  speaking  to  just  now — the  gentleman 
by  the  table." 

The  Colonel  drew  himself  up  and  looked 
across  at  Hubert,  who  was  still  sitting  on  a 
chair  beside  the  veranda.  He  observed  him 
with  interest.  "Well,  he's  a  fine,  well-grown 
young  man,"  he  remarked,  after  a  pause,  sur- 
veying him  deliberately.  "  A  young  man  any 
father  in  England  might  be  proud  of !  A  chip 
of  the  old  block,  as  far  as  body  goes  !  But 
I'm  afraid,  after  all,  he's  a  canting  humbug.  I 
hate  hypocrisy  !  Drank  beer,  though,  like  a 
man  !  Hope  his  mother  hasn't  succeeded  in 
making  a  confounded  Methodist  of  him  !  " 

*'  Seventy-two  is  six  francs,"  the  concierge 
said,  returning  strictly  to  business  ;  "  and  plain 
breakfast  three.     I  suppose  you  will  go  into 


12  A  Splendid  Sin. 

table  dhdte  this  evening.     Table  d'hote  is  five. 
Fourteen  in  all,  sir." 

The  Colonel  eyed  him  severely.  ''  There, 
young  man,"  he  replied,  "you  make  your 
blooming  little  error  !  I  will  not  go  in  to  table 
dhdte  this  evening.  I  will  dine  a  la  carte, 
unostentatiously  and  simply,  in  number 
seventy-two.  I  am  traveling  incognito."  He 
drew  himself  up  again.  '*  Mind,"  he  said, 
lowering  his  voice,  "don't  mention  to  Mr. 
Egremont  that  I  asked  at  all  after  him  or  his 
family.  You  are  not  paid  by  your  master, 
young  fellow,  to  carry  tales  about  from  one 
guest  to  another." 

The  concierge  nodded,  and  sent  the  boots 
to  accompany  the  threadbare  stranger  to  the 
room  assigned  him.  The  Colonel  strode  on 
with  much  military  dignity.  The  concierge 
returned  to  the  veranda  to  Hubert. 

"  Who  is  he  ? "  the  young  man  asked,  with  a 
certain  languid  curiosity. 

"  I'm  sure  I  can't  say,  sir,"  the  concierge 
answ^ered  ;  "  but  he  can't  be  anybody  much, 
for  he  didn't  write  for  rooms  beforehand. 
Though,  to  be  sure,  we  have  gentlemen  come 
here  in  the  climbing  season  who  look  more 
like  chimney-sweeps  than  like  people  of  posi- 
tion, through  accidents  on  the  mountains. 
But  this  isn't  one  of  those  ;  his  clothes  are  old 
and  patched — premeditated  poverty  !  " 

**  He's  a  loathsome  sight,"  Hubert  mused  ; 


An  Officer  and  a  Gentleman.  73 

him'^stilf "  ^""^'^  ^""^ '"''""  °^  "^  gentleman  about 

"  It  takes  an  opera-glass  to  see  them,  though  " 
he  concierge  added.     "I  should  say  by  the 
look  of  him  he  lives  on  brandy  " 
__  "He'll   die  of  it  soon,"  Hubert  answered. 
His  IS  a  very  bad  case.    He  hasn't  much  more 
than  SIX  months  of  life,  at  most,  left  in  him." 
You  think  not  ? " 
"I  don't  think,   I  know.     He  has  had  de- 
hnum  tremens,  I  can  see,  for  years  ;  and  he's 
well  on  his  way  now  to  alcoholic  insanity  and 
creeping  paralysis."  ^ 

''That's  bad,"  the  concierge  said. 
Yes,  inherited,"  Hubert  went  on  "  He 
has  brought  it  on  himself  in  large  part  of 
course  ;  but  his  ancestors  had  laid  the  seed 
of  It  before  h.m.  His  children  will  develop 
It  sooner  than  he  ;  and  his  grandchildren  will 
be  born  idiots  or  epileptics." 

"You're  a  doctor,  sir  .? "  the  concierge  asked 
eyeing  him  hard.  ^  ' 

"  Not  exactly  a  doctor  ;  but  next  door  to  it 
-a  physiologist.  I've  spent  three  years  in 
watching  and    studying    these    cases  at   an 

wntn  f  ■  •/  f°^u  ^}^  *^P^  '''^"-  Yo"  take  my 
word  for  it-if  that  man  has  a  son,  the  son  is 
aoomed  to  insanity  before  thirty ! " 


74  A  Splendid  Sin. 


CHAPTER  V. 

love's  philosophy. 

The  table  d'hote  that  evening  consisted  of 
five  people  only — for  the  "hoary  old  repro- 
bate," persisted  in  his  intention  of  dining  alone 
in  number  seventy-two  off  a  menu  of  his 
ordering. 

The  Marchese  and  Fede  were  the  first  to 
enter  the  salle  a  manger.  They  had  only 
been  seated  a  minute,  however,  when  Hubert 
dropped  in,  not  expecting  to  see  them.  He 
gave  a  start  of  surprise  when  his  eyes  lighted 
upon  Fede. 

"Why,  signorina,"  he  cried,  advancing  to 
her  with  outstretched  hand,  "  1  didn't  know 
you  were  here.  We  were  not  expecting  you 
till  to-morrow  morning." 

Fede  took  his  hand  timidly.  Her  eyes 
met  his  and  dropped.  "  Oh,  Hubert,"  she 
said — "  I — I  mean,  Mr.  Egremont,  how  well 
you're  looking  !  Papa,  allow  me  to  intro- 
duce Mr.  Egremont." 

**  This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure,"  Hubert 


Love's  Philosophy.  75 

cried— not  searching  about  for  a  phrase  hke  a 
modern  novehst,  but  using  the  easy  and  con- 
venient formula.  "  I'm  delighted  to  meet  you  ! 
When  did  you  arrive  ?  I'm  afraid,  Fede,your 
father  doesn't  understand  English  ;  and  my 
Italian,  you  know " 

The  Marchese  bowed  impressively  with  Flor- 
entine politeness.  He  was  carefully  groomed, 
and  his  big  black  mustache  looked  extremely 
imposing.  "  English,"  he  answered,  smiling, 
and  showing  two  rows  of  pearly  white  teeth. 
"As  well  as  you  do,  Mr.  Egremont !  We 
Florentines  are  nothing,  you  know,  if  not  cos- 
mopolitan. Besides,  my  mother  was  an  Eng- 
lishwoman, and  so  was  my  wife  ;  and  when  I 
w^as  a  clerk  in  a  merchant's  ofBce  in  Fen- 
church  Street " 

Hubert's  preconceived  notions  of  the  proud 
Tuscan  nobleman  received  a  severe  blow.  "A 
merchant's  office  in  Fenchurch  Street  ? "  he 
repeated,  bewildered.  What  had  a  Florentine 
Tornabuoni  to  do  with  Fenchurch  Street  ? " 

The  Marchese  stroked  the  ends  of  the  big 
black  mustache  with  evident  amusement.  He 
was  overflowing  with  good  humor.  "Yes,  a 
merchant's  office  in  Fenchurch  Street,"  he 
reiterated,  delighted.  "You  see,  we  Floren- 
tines are  also  nothing  if  not  commercial ;  and 
as  my  ancestors,  the  Tornabuoni,  had  left  us  a 
Property," — the  Marchese  always  dropped  his 
voice  reverently  at  that  sacred  word,  and  pro- 


76  A  Splendid  Sin. 

nounced  it  somehow  with  a  capital  initial — 
"a  wine-growing  estate  in  the  valley  of  the 
Arno,  which  does  a  big  export  business  in 
Chianti  with  England— -my  father  thought  it 
best  for  me,  while  I  was  young  and  plastic,  to 
learn  the  ways  of  the  English  wine-market  on 
the  spot  in  London." 

"  I  see,'*  Hubert  murmured,  sitting  down 
and  feeling  very  much  taken  aback.  This  was 
not  the  haughty  Florentine  his  fancy  had 
pictured.  The  man  before  him  was  gentleman 
to  the  core,  but  he  was  distinctly  commercial. 

"  You  know  my  Chianti,  I  dare  say,"  the 
Marchese  continued,  with  his  expansive  smile. 
"  The  Monte  Riggioni  brand.  It's  making  its 
way,  I'm  told,  at  Romano's  and  Gatti's. 

"I — I  don't  think  I  discriminate  between 
vintages  of  Chianti,"  Hubert  answered,  much 
surprised.  But  he  noted  mentally  that  the 
Italian  aristocrat  was  not  above  turning  an 
honest  penny. 

"When  did  you  get  here?"  he  went  on, 
turning  round  to  Fede.  "  How  unkind  you 
must  have  thought  it  of  me  not  to  have  been 
waiting  at  the  hotel  to  meet  you !  But  your 
father  wrote  you  wouldn't  arrive  till  to-mor- 
row." 

"  I  didn't  wish  to  give  you  the  trouble,"  the 
Marchese  answered,  taking  the  words  from 
Fede.  "  It  was  a  lovely  day,  so  I  decided,  on 
second   thoughts,  we  had  better  push  on  to 


Love's  Philosophy.  ^*j 

Rothenthal  at  once,  instead  of   waiting  over 
night  at  the  inn  at  Goeschenen." 

"We  are  the  gainers,"  Hubert  answered, 
still  awkward  and  confused.  ''  But  I  could 
have  wished  I  had  known  it,  Fede  ;  my  mother 
and  I  would  have  been  on  the  road  to  meet 
you." 

The  Marchese  noticed  that  he  called  her 
plain  Fede.  These  English  have  certainly  the 
most  precipitate  ways  of  plunging  into  matri- 
J"f  "y  \  But,  being  a  shrewd  and  observant 
lather,  he  had  taken  a  preliminary  survey  of  the 
young  man  whom  Fede  had  picked  up  in  an 
Oxford  college,  and  he  was  pleased  at  first 
sight  with  his  visible  qualities.  There  was  an 
air  of  sohd  coininess  about  his  simple  dinner- 
jacket,  and  his  studs  and  sleeve-links  were  of 
a  sterling  kind  that  inspired  confidence 

One   minute  later,  Mrs.  Egremont  and  Sir 
t.milius  entered  the  room  together. 

Hubert  rose  to  introduce  them.  "  Mother  " 
^^  said,  bringing  her  forward  with  natural 
pride,  '*  I  find  to  my  surprise  the  Marchese  and 
— er— and  Signorina  Tornabuoni  have  arrived 
unexpectedly.  Allow  me  to  introduce  you  • 
the  Marchese  Tornabuoni,  the  Marchesa  Fede  ' 
my  mother,  Mrs.  Egremont." 

The  Italian  bowed  low  with  Florentine  em- 
tressement  "  Charmed,  "  he  muttered  be- 
tween his  white  teeth,  -  charmed  to  make  your 
acquaintance." 


78  A  Splendid  Sin. 

"And  my  uncle,  Sir  Emilius  Rawson," 
Hubert  added,  glancing  round  at  him. 

A  curious  shade  of  expression  flitted  for  a 
second  across  the  Marchese's  face,  which  did 
not  escape  Hubert's  keen  notice.  His  future 
father-in-law  was  not  an  Englishman  ;  yet  it 
was  clear  he  was  quite  as  visibly  impressed  by 
Sir  Emilius's  title  as  the  veriest  of  snobs  in  our 
most  snobbish  of  islands.  "  And  Sir  Emilius," 
he  went  on,  bowing  again,  "  delighted  to  meet 
you.  We  had  heard  you  were  staying  here — 
the  concierge  told  us — but  we  did  not  connect 
you,  somehow,  with  Mrs.  Egremont's  party. 
Fede,  my  dear,  you  omitted  to  tell  me  that 
Sir  Emilius  Rawson  was  Mr.  Hubert's  uncle." 
As  he  said  it,  he  was  reflecting  inwardly  that 
an  English  Sir,  even  if  only  a  knight,  was 
usually  wealthy.  Beer  gains  no  coronet  till 
it  has  sold  its  million  bottles. 

"  I  didn't  know  it,"  Fede  answered,  with  an 
apologetic  smile.  "  Hubert — er — never  hap- 
pened to  mention  it  to  me." 

"  We  had — so  many  other  things  to  talk 
about,"  Hubert  adventured,  with  a  smile,  in 
the  vain  attempt  to  keep  his  eye  simultaneously 
on  his  uncle,  his  mother,  the  Marchese,  and 
Fede. 

Sir  Emilius  came  to  the  rescue.  He  had 
diagnosed  his  man  at  a  single  glance — sound 
common  sense,  a  head  for  affairs,  hot-tempered, 
placable,   overworks   his   digestion.      "I   was 


Love's  Philosophy.  79 

only  plain  Dr.  Rawson  when  the  signorina  was 
in  England,"  he  put  in.  "  A  royal  duke  liad 
luckily,  soon  after,  a  bad  attack  of  gout— and — 
you  behold  me  a  baronet  !  " 

"A  baronet  !  "  the  Marchese  echoed.  That 
was  good,  a  baronet !  He  recollected  to  liave 
heard  that,  while  knightlioods  are  sometimes 
cheap,  unless  a  man  has  money  enough  to 
support  the  hereditary  dignity  he  can  never 
attain  to  the  honor  of  a  baronetcy. 

Soup  intervened — the  inevitable  Julienne. 
The  Marchese  addressed  himself  to  it  with 
Italian  promptitude.  **  I  understand,"  he  an- 
swered. "Physician  in  ordinary — that  kind 
of  thing,  isn't  it  ?  A  very  good  profession. 
The  one  unmistakably  beneficent  calling — for 
I  don't  count  priests — and  also  paying.  We 
are  partners  in  business,  Sir  Emilius.  /  deal 
in  Chianti,  yon  deal  in  gout ;  between  us  we 
ought  to  catch  most  of  the  world  in  our  net,  I 
fancy." 

Sir   Emilius  smiled.      "  And    we   do,"  he 
answered. 

Throughout  the  rest  of  dinner  it  gradually 
dawned  on  Hubert's  mind  that  the  haughty 
Italian  aristocrat  was  gently  engaged  in  ex- 
ploring the  question,  not  whether  his  pros- 
pective son-in-law  was  the  equal  in  birth, 
rank,  breeding,  and  position  of  the  Marchesa 
Fede,  but  whether  his  fortune  was  one  worth 
a  sensible  man's  acceptance  for  his  marriage- 


8o  A  Splendid  Sin. 

able  daughter.  Once  by  mere  chance,  indeed, 
Mrs.  Egremont  happened  to  allude  in  passing 
to  her  place  in  Devonshire.  The  Marchese 
was  down  upon  her  at  once.  "Ah,  you  live 
in  Devonshire,"  he  said,  wrestling  with  the 
table  cVJiote  chicken.  *'  I  have  heard  it  is  most 
beautiful.  You  have  a  house — a  country  house 
there.  Delightful,  de-lightful !  Your  English 
country  seats,  they  are  always  so  charming !  " 

"Our  views  are  exquisite,"  Hubert  put  in. 
"  We  look  down  upon  a  sweet  little  Devon- 
shire river." 

"  Yes,  no  doubt,"  the  Marchese  said,  helping 
himself  to  Yvorne.  In  England  you  have  al- 
ways such  magnificent  timber.  A  park,  I 
suppose?"  and  he  looked  at  Mrs.  Egremont 
with  insinuating  inquiry. 

"  Yes,  a  charming  old  park,"  Mrs.  Egremont 
answered  quietly,  "in  a  beautiful  village." 

"  Deer  ?  "  the  Marchese  inquired.  He  cared 
nothing  for  Nature,  but  he  knew  very  well  that 
deer  in  England  were  a  symbol  of  extreme 
wealth  and  county  position. 

"  A  few  fallow  deer,"  Mrs.  Egremont  an- 
swered, wondering  why  he  asked  the  question. 
"They  look  sweet  under  the  shade  of  the 
spreading  oaks  in  Devon." 

The  Marchese  scored  one  good  point  in 
favor  of  the  family.  People  with  fallow  deer 
are  people  of  consideration. 

"  And  your  estates,  Sir  Emilius,"  the  Italian 


''t'*  ':' 


Love's  Philosophy.  8i 

went  on,  with  a  bland  smile  of  suggest  o)  ; 
"are  they  also  in  Devonshire  ?  " 

The  doctor  smiled  in  return.  "  My  estates," 
he  replied,  "  are  entirely  in  Harley  Street." 

"  Ah,  I  see,"  the  Marchese  echoed,  at  fault 
for  once  in  an  English  allusion.  "  Town 
Property.     Most  lucrative  !  " 

Sir  Emilius  found  himself  ignominiously 
compelled  to  elucidate  his  little  joke.  "  Harley 
Street,"  he  explained  drily,  "is  the  doctors' 
quarter  in  London.  It  is  wholly  given  over  to 
medical  men,  you  know— a  paradise  of  pill- 
makers.  I  own  no  houses  there — not  even  my 
own— which  is  merely  leasehold.  But  you 
seemed  so  absolutely  at  home  in  England, 
Marchese,  that  I  thought  you  would  appreciate 
my— er— my  delicate  and  playful  way  of  put- 
ting it." 

The  Marchese  nodded  assent.  "  How  stupid 
of  me,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  understand,  of 
course  ;  I  catch  your  idea.  You  mean  to  say, 
your  estate  is  the  profits  of  your  profession." 

"  Quite  so,"  Sir  Emilius  answered,  with  an 
eye  on  the  salad. 

The  Marchese  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  the 
scope  of  his  inquiries.  "  Then  the  park  in 
Devonshire  came  to  you  through  your  husband, 
madame  ? "  he  suggested  tentatively. 

"  No,"  Mrs.  Egremont  answered,  hardly  per- 
ceiving   his   drift.      "  Nothing    came    to   me 

through  my  husband.     It  was  my  dear  father's 
6 


82  A  Splendid  Sin. 

place,  ^nd  I  inherited  it  from  him.  It  will 
be  Hubert's  after  me."  She  spoke  with  the 
unobtrusive  and  pleasing  confidence  of  an 
English  lady. 

''That's  odd,"  the  Marchese  continued,  ap- 
plying the  common  pump  with  less  skill  than 
vigor.  "  It  did  not  go  to  Sir  Emilius.  I 
thought  that  in  England  property  descended 
always  to  the  eldest  son.  You  have  the  law  of 
primogeniture." 

"  I  am  only  Mrs.  Egremont's  half-brother," 
Sir  Emilius  interposed,  clearer  sighted  than 
his  sister.  "  Our  mother  was  twice  married. 
The  first  time  to  my  father,  a  doctor  at  Norwich, 
a  mere  professional  man,  who  left  me  unfortu- 
nately nothing  to  speak  of,  but  what  brains  I  may 
possess  ;  the  second  time  to  a  well-to-do  Dev- 
onshire squire,  who  bequeathed  to  my  sister 
his  estate  and  fortune.  Which  is  why  /  am 
a  poor  devil  of  a  doctor  in  Harley  Street,  while 
she  rolls  in  her  carriage  down  the  slopes  of 
Dartmoor." 

"I  see,"  the  Marchese  answered;  "a double 
household.  Yet —  "  he  took  Sir  Emilius's  social 
measure  with  a  frank  glance  of  observation — 
"  I  should  say  you  made  a  very  fair  interest  on 
the  brains  which  you  tell  me  were  all  the  in- 
heritance your  father  left  you." 

"  My  brother  is  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
medical  men  in  London  "  Mrs.  Egremont  put 
in,  with  sisterly  pride. 


Love's  Philosophy.  83 

"And  my  sister  is  one  of  the  most  confiding 
women  in  England,"  Sir  Emilius  added,  in  the 
same  half  undertone. 

The  Marchese  was  well  satisfied.  The  pump 
had  acted.  These  were  the  very  points  he 
wanted  to  know.  To-morrow,  of  course,  he 
would  have  a  formal  talk  w^ith  Hubert  and  his 
uncle,  to  settle  the  details  of  this  business 
arrangement,  this  partnership  into  which  Fedc 
was  thinking  of  entering.  He  would  learn  in 
full  precisely  how  much  the  young  man  was 
worth,  and  how  much  he  proposed  to  settle  on 
Fede.  A  house  ?  An  income  ?  An  estate  ? 
A  remainder  ?  Meanwhile,  however,  he  was 
so  far  satisfied  w4th  his  preliminary  inquiries 
that  he  waived  further  question.  He  could 
gather  that  the  Egremonts  were  "the  right  sort 
of  people  " — people  w4th  whom  a  man  of  Prop- 
erty (with  a  capital  initial)  might  safely  con- 
clude an  alliance  on  his  daughter's  behalf, 
provided  all  other  things  turned  out  favorable. 
So  the  Marchese  w^as  affable.  Affability  was 
his  forte.  He  diverged  upon  Florence.  And 
when  the  Marchese  w^as  once  well  launched 
upon  Florentine  gossip,  he  w^as  always  interest- 
ing. 

As  for  Fede,  she  sat  and  smiled  w4th  a  smile 
that  alone  was  better  than  talking.  She  did 
not  say  much,  but  the  little  she  said  pleased 
her  future  mother-in-law.  As  they  went  out 
of  the  salle  a  manger,  Hubert  gave  a  significant 


84  A  Splendid  Sin. 

glance  at  his  mother.  Mrs.  Egremont  bent 
towards  him  ;  her  lips  moved  slightly.  "  She 
is  charming,  dear,  charming,"  the  mother  said, 
in  a  low  sweet  voice.  And  they  passed  on  to 
the  veranda. 

"  It's  a  lovely  evening,"  Hubert  observed. 
**  Let  us  take  a  stroll  through  the  grounds." 
And  he  glanced  up  at  the  moon,  now  seen 
through  the  waving  tops  of  the  larches. 

The  Marchese  hesitated.  If  he  had  known 
nothing  at  all  of  Hubert's  position  and  pros- 
pects, he  would  have  met  the  suggestion  wdth 
a  prompt  negative.  But  ^75  Mrs.  Egremont 
was  a  squiress  in  Devonshire,  and  as  Hubert 
was  her  only  son  and  heir  to  the  Property,  the 
Marchese  decided,  after  a  moment's  pause,  that 
there  could  be  no  great  harm  in  letting  the 
young  people  stroll  out  by  themselves  for  a  few 
minutes  together — if  he  and  Mrs.  Egremont 
followed  in  the  wake  and  kept  a  good  lookout 
upon  them. 

**  May  I,  papa?"  Fede  asked,  looking  up  at 
him. 

"Shall  we,  madame  ?"  the  Marchese  asked 
Mrs.  Egremont  in  turn,  with  more  Italian  cor- 
rectness. 

"The  young  people  would  probably  prefer 
to  go  out  alone,"  Sir  Em.ilius  suggested.  He 
had  once  been  young  himself,  and  had  not  quite 
forgotten  it. 

To  Luigi  Tornabuoni,  however,  the  sugges- 


Love's  Philosophy.  85 

tion  was  revolutionary.  A  young  girl  stroll  out 
in  the  grounds  of  an  hotel  for  ten  minutes  alone 
with  her  prospective  lover  !  Impossible  !  im- 
possible !  But  he  understood  these  English, 
and  dissembled  his  feelings.  *'  It's  a  lovely 
night,"  he  said.  "  I  should  enjoy  a  stroll  my- 
self. Fede,  my  love,  run  upstairs  and  fetch  a 
light  wrap -Mrs.  Egremont,  can  she  bring  down 
a  shawl  or  cape  for  you  ?  You  will  help  me 
to  chaperon  them  ?" 

"  Oh,  would  you  ask  my  maid,  in  number 
twenty,  for  my  Cashmere  shawl,  dear !  "  Mrs. 
Egremont  said,  with  a  motherly  smile  at 
Fede. 

The  Marchese  noted  two  things ;  first,  that 
she  smiled ;  and  second,  that  she  brought  a 
maid  abroad  with  her  when  she  traveled. 
*'  Looks  coiny,"  he  thought  to  himself  ;  ''  coiny  ! 
I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  Fede,  after  all, 
without  in  the  least  knowing  it,  has  managed 
to  patch  up  a  very  good  match  for  herself. 
But,  mother  of  heaven,  how  foolishly  they  do 
arrange  these  things  in  England  !  " 

They  strolled  out  into  the  grounds.  It  was 
one  of  those  serene  October  evenings,  rare 
further  north,  when  the  odor  of  pine  and  the 
buzz  of  insects  seem  to  echo  summer.  The 
larches  swayed  and  trembled  in  the  moonlight. 
The  three  seniors  walked  behind  ;  Fede  and 
Hubert  walked  on  in  front,  just  far  enough 
away  to  say  those  little  nothings  which  were 


86  A  Splendid  Sin. 

nearest  to  their  hearts  at  that  moment  of  meet- 
ing. The  paths  wound  irregularly  among 
shrubs  and  trees,  and  it  was  not  even  impos- 
sible— behind  a  clump  of  rhododendrons — but 
this  book  may  perhaps  be  read  in  families. 

Hubert  fixed  a  white  rose  in  Fede's  bosom 
as  she  walked.  She  looked  down  at  it,  blush- 
ing. "  You  look  sweeter  than  ever,  Fede,"  he 
said,  gazing  hard  at  her. 

"  Do  I,  darling  ?  If  I  do,  for  your  sake,  I'm 
glad  of  it." 

"  And   that  dress  becomes  you    so  !      Oh, 
Fede,  what  a  delight  !     I've  been  so  dreaming 
of  you,  and  longing  for  you.    And  you  ? " 
"  Well,  what  do  you  think,  Hubert  ?  " 
**  I  think — you've  missed  me." 
•'  Clever  boy  !     Who  told  you  ?  " 
**  The  usual  little  bird,  I  fancy,  Fede." 
Fede  clasped  her  hands  in  the  passionate 
Italian  fashion.     A  British  matron  would  have 
called  it  theatrical  ;  but  to  Hubert,  who  knew 
how  naturally  she  did  it,  it  was  charming.     "Ah, 
darling,  that  same  little  bird  came  and  perched 
on  the  vine  by  my  bedroom  window,"  she  said, 
with  a  deep  tremor  ;  *'  and  w^hat  do  you  think 
it  sang  to  me  all   day  long  ?     *  Tweet,  tweet, 
tw^eet  ;    Hu-bert,  Hu-bert,  Hu-bert,  Hubert  ! 
You    love     him  ;      he     loves     you — Hubert, 
Hubert." 

She  said  it  with  a  delicious  imitation  of  the 
song  of  the  beccafico.     Her  tongue  trilled  like 


Love's  Philosophy.  Sy 

a  bird's  ;  her  breast  rose  and  fell  sweetly.  It 
was  a  simple  trick,  but  it  made  his  heart  beat 
hard  within  him. 

"  And  how  uiiich  have  you  missed  me  ? " 
Hubert  asked  once  more,  breaking  forth  with 
one  of  those  eternal  nothmgs  of  love  which 
lovers  of  all  ages  have  asked  and  answered  in 
a  thousand  languages. 

Fede  stretched  her  two  arms  as  wide  as  they 
would  go.  '*  As  much  as  that!''  she  an- 
swered, laughing,  "  As  much  as  the  world  ! 
As  much  as  all  the  w^ay  from  Florence  to 
England  !  " 

He  leaned  forw^ard  pleadingly.  **  Just  one, 
Fede  ;  just  one  !  "  They  were  abreast  of  the 
rhododendrons. 

Fede  glanced  round  her  with  a  nervous  look. 
Papa  was  too  near.  *'  Not  here,  dear  ;  not 
here,"  she  said,  in  a  faint  voice  of  dissent. 
But  her  eyes  belied  her. 

Hubert  snatched  it,  and  walked  on.  His 
hand  was  on  her  arm.  **  And  my  mother,  dar- 
ling ?"  he  asked,  more  with  pride  than  anxiety. 

"  Oh,  Hubert,  there  can  only  be  one  opinion 
about  your  mother." 

"  So  I  think,"  he  answered.  '^  But  I  wanted 
you  to  love  her." 

*'  1  shall,  I'm  sure.  She's  so  soft,  so  gentle. 
And  she  looks  so  young,  too.  Yet  very  sym- 
pathetic. Fm  sure  I  shall  feel  to  her  more 
like  a  sister  than  a  daughter." 


88  A  Splendid  Sin. 

''  Her  heart  is  young,"  Hubert  answered 
trutiifully. 

"  And  her  face,  and  her  figure  !  But  not  too 
young.  She  has  also  the  look  of  a  woman  who 
has  suffered." 

'*  She  lost  my  father  young,"  Hubert  replied. 
"  But  she  loves  me  so  much,  she  is  happy  now, 
I  think.  And  it  makes  her  happy  to  secure 
my  happiness.  All  has  turned  out  so  well ! 
Do  you  know,  Fede,  the  first  sight  of  your 
father's  face  completely  reassured  me." 

"  Reassured  you,  darling  ?  Why  did  you 
need  reassuring  ? " 

"  Well,  I  thought  he  might  demand  so  much 
in  the  w^ay  of  noble  birth  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  But  now  I  see  him,  I  feel  my  fears 
were  wholly  groundless— or  at  least  exagger- 
ated. I  fancied  a  Tornabuoni  with  a  six 
hundred  year  old  name  would  think  so  little 
of  us.  Yet— if  you  don't  mind  my  saying  so 
—I  couldn't  help  noticing  he  was  visibly  im- 
pressed, wlien  Uncle  Emilius  came  in,  by  a 
brand  new  baronetcy." 

Fede  glanced  at  her  lover  proudly.  "  If  he 
w^asn't  satisfied  with  you,  dear,"  she  said,  "  he 
must  be  exacting  !  And  besides,  we  Floren- 
tines think  so  much  of  England.  It's  fashion- 
able in  Florence  to  be  half-English,  you  know. 
All  the  best  families  intermarry  w^ith  English- 
men." 

"  Vm  glad  of  that,"  Hubert  answered,  as  they 


Love's  Philosophy.  89 

passed  a  second  ckimp  of  taller  trees,  "  for  it 
tells  on  my  side.  .  .  .  Now — quick,  Fede  dar- 
ling— another." 

There  was  an  interval  of  twenty  seconds  for 
refreshments. 

"  Besides,"  Fede  went  on  next  minute, 
glancing  back  along  the  path,  and  trying  hard 
to  look  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  ** — what 
were  we  talking  about— let  me  see  !  Oh,  yes  ; 
the  baronetcy  !  Well — you  mustn't  mind  my 
saying  it,  dear — it's  Florentine,  you  know,  to 
be  strictly  businesslike  ;  and  papa  knows  quite 
enough  of  England  to  know  that  a  baronetcy 
means  money.  So  I  was  glad  to  hear  you 
had  a  title  laid  on  in  the  family  to  impress 
him." 

''  But  /  haven't  money,  Fede.  You  must 
understand  that.     It's  all  my  mother's." 

"  I  know,  darling,  I  know  ;  and  to  me,  that's 
nothing.  I  w^ould  marry  you,  Hubert,  if  we 
had  to  earn  our  bread  and  to  live  in  a  hovel. 
But  papa's  not  ///  lor^e  with  you,  of  course  ;  and 
that  makes  all  the  difference  !  He's  a  man  of 
business,  papa  ;  and  he'll  want  to  know  soon 
all  about  your  position  and  prospects  and  so 
forth.  /  had  never  thought  about  those  ;  so 
I  was  ever  so  glad  to  hear  a  number  of  things 
that  your  mother  and  uncle  said  at  dinner  ; 
because  I  knew  it  would  satisfy  him — and — and 
—and " 

'*  And  bring  our  marriage  nearer." 


90  A  Splendid  Sin. 

Fede  clasped  his  arm  ecstatically.     "  Mar 
nage  !  ''she  cried.     ''  Oh,  Hubert,  I  don't  mind 
about  tliat.     I  only  want  to  be  near  you  '     This 
halo^on" t'r'^  ^^^  ^^^  •'     This  is  life  with  the 


The  Philosophy  of  Love.  91 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    PHILOSOPHY   OF    LOVE. 

"  You  were  wrong  in  what  you  said  this 
afternoon,  Uncle  Emilius,"  Hubert  began  that 
evening,  as  soon  as  the  Tornabuoni  had  left 
the  salon.  "  You  were  wrong  when  jou  said, 
'  You  fall  in  love  with  the  girls  you  see  ;  how 
the  dickens  can  you  fall  in  love  with  the  girls 
you  don't  see  ? '  The  mystery  of  love  goes 
much  deeper  than  that.  There  is  another  and 
a  far  profounder  side  to  it." 

"  So  young  men  always  think  when  they're 
in  love  themselves,"  Sir  Emilius  replied,  with 
middle-aged  tolerance  for  the  follies  of  youth. 
*'  They  see  everything  through  the  rose-colored 
glasses  of  their  fancy.  But  they  see  through 
those  glasses  in  another  sense  when  they're 
twenty  years  older." 

Hubert  paused  for  a  second,  reflectively. 
They  were  sitting  with  Mrs.  Egremont  in  her 
private  room.  "  Mother,"  he  said,  turning  to 
her,  "you  must  help  me.  Uncle  Emilius  is 
altogether  too  resolutely  scientific.  And  yet 
not  philosophically  scientific  either  ;  for  falling 


92 


A  Splendid  Sin. 


in  love,  after  all,  is  a  great  fact  and  factor  in 
the  history  of  humanity  ;  and,  like  every  other 
powerful  component  of  our  nature,  it  must  be 
there  for  something." 

*' It  is  there,"  Uncle  Emilius  replied,  ''for 
the  very  simple  purpose  of  making  men  and 
women,  at  the  turning  point  of  life,  enter  into 
what  is  after  all  a  very  irrational  union  with 
one  another,  viewed  from  the  standpoint  of 
their  personal  convenience.  To  be  the  father 
of  a  family — as  I  know  by  experience — is  no 
easy  sinecure ;  to  be  the  mother  of  a  family  is 
still  less  of  an  amusement,  Julia,  when  one 
comes  to  face  its  meaning  fairly.  If  we  acted 
as  was  wisest  for  our  own  convenience  alone, 
wx  would  shirk  the  duty  of  raising  up  future 
generations  of  men.  But  there,  nature  inter- 
venes with  the  illusion  of  love ;  she  cajoles  us 
into  believing,  for  a  moment,  that  this,  that,  or 
the  other  particular  woman  is  absolutely  indis- 
pensable to  our  happiness  or  our  very  existence. 
As  soon  as  we  have  made  the  step  irrevocable, 
and  committed  ourselves  to  this  husband  or  that 
wife,  as  the  case  may  be,  for  the  whole  of  a  life- 
time, we  find  out  our  mistake,  and  discover  that 
any  other  person  of  modern  attractiveness  and 
tolerable  manners  would  probably  have  done 
about  equally  well  for  us." 

Hubert  played  with  his  cigarette-holder  for 
a  moment  before  he  replied.  Then  he  an- 
swered quietly,  "  I  still  maintain  your  view  is 


The  Philosophy  of  Love.  93 

neither  scientific  nor  philosophical.  You  omit 
to  take  into  consideration  the  very  essence  of 
love— its  fastidious  selectiveness." 

**  Explain  ! "  Sir  Emilius exclaimed.  "  Ex- 
plain !  "  And  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
regarding  his  nephew  with  supremely  critical 
superiority.  The  two  men  were  singularly 
unlike  in  intellect — Sir  Emilius  keen  and  acute, 
not  broad ;  Hubert  expansive,  many-sided, 
elusive. 

The  young  man  looked  at  the  ceiling,  and 
half  shut  his  eyes,  dreamily.  "  One  day  this 
summer  term  at  Oxford,"  he  said,  at  last,  taking 
up  his  parable,  "  I  was  lying  on  a  bank  in 
Bagley  Wood,  when  foxgloves  flared,  and 
bullfinches  had  put  on  their  finest  coats  for 
courting.  As  I  lay  and  looked  about  me,  I 
saw,  on  a  bent  of  grass  close  by,  an  orange-tip 
butterfly,  just  escaped  from  the  chrysalis.  He 
stood  there,  motionless,  just  poised  on  the  stem 
up  which  he  had  crawled  ;  and  after  a  while,  as 
he  grew  accustomed  to  his  strange  new  body, 
he  began  timidly  to  plim  his  untried  wings, 
half  opening  them  in  the  sunlight  from  time 
totime,  as  if  wondering  how  they  got  there.  For 
remember,  mother,  he  was  bred  nothing  better 
than  a  common  green  caterpillar.  He  knew 
nought  of  wings,  of  flight,  of  honey  ;  nought 
of  love,  of  his  mate,  of  his  destiny.  So  he  sat 
there,  spreading  out  his  airy  vans  with'  vague 
wonder,  and  mentally  comparing  his  six  slender 


94  A  Splendid  Sin. 

legs  with  the  creeping  suckers  on  which  he 
crawled  in  his  nonage." 

Sir  Emilius  sniffed.  **  Poetry ! "  he  murmured. 
"  Pure  unmitigated  poetry  !  Nothing  on  earth 
to  do  with  science." 

**  Let  him  go  on,  Mill,"  Mrs.  Egremont  put 
in,  with  a  warning  look.  "  I  want  to  hear 
what  Hubert  has  to  say  about  it." 

*'  Science  has  its  philosophy  which  is  deeper 
than  its  facts,"  Hubert  continued,  pressing  his 
mother's  hand  in  mute  gratitude.  **  And  the 
use  of  the  facts  is,  to  teach  us  the  philosophy. 
Well,  I  saw  my  butterfly  at  last  creep  up  his 
bent  of  grass— he  that  was  till  lately  a  small 
green  grub,  gorging  himself  on  cresses  ;  and 
one  minute  later,  he  had  spread  his  wings,  and 
ventured  into  the  unknown,  a  full-fledged 
orange-tip.  He  seemed  conscious  of  his  beauty, 
too,  as  he  spread  his  white  pinions,  with  their 
brilliant  orange  badge,  and  their  delicate  fringe 
of  Tyrian  purple.  All  at  once,  as  he  fluttered 
and  hesitated  in  mid  air,  he  caught  sight  from 
afar  of  a  virgin  brimstone.  *  Will  he  chase 
her  ? '  I  thought,  though  I  knew  he  would 
not ;  but  he  gazed  at  her,  disdainful,  and  flitted 
by  in  the  sunlight  without  one  flutter  of 
recognition.  Then  a  clouded  yellow  sailed 
past,  pursued  by  two  rivals  of  her  own  swift- 
winged  race  ;  but  the  orange-tip  fared  on, 
never  pausing  to  look  at  her.  At  a  turn  of  the 
hedge,  however,  up  loomed  from  windward  a 


The  Philosophy  of  Love.  95 

small  yellowish  butterfly,  not  much  like  him- 
self, green  and  white  underneath,  fringed  with 
black  above,  and  without  the  orange  spot 
which  made  my  bright  little  friend  himself  so 
attractive.  In  a  second  he  recognized  her  as 
his  predestined  mate,  the  one  kind  created  for 
him.  While  I  looked,  all  at  once  the  whole 
world  was  one  maze — in  and  out— in  and  out  ; 
those  two  pretty  things,  circling  and  flickering 
together,  were  in  the  thick  of  their  courtship — 
he,  rising  on  the  breeze  and  displaying  at  each 
turn  his  beautiful  orange  wings ;  she,  coquet- 
ting an  dcurveting,  dancing  coyly  through  the 
air,  now  pretending  to  fly  away,  now  affecting 
disdain,  now  allowing  him  to  overtake  her, 
with  quite  human  coquetry,  and  now  darting 
off  again  on  evasive  wings,  just  as  he  thought 
he  had  captivated  that  capricious  small  heart 
of  hers.  So  they  went  on  for  ten  minutes  with 
their  aerial  minuet ;  and  when  I  last  caught 
sight  of  them,  they  were  still  circling  undecided 
in  graceful  curves  above  the  sprays  of  wdld 
rose  in  the  hedgerow  by  the  river." 

"Very  nicely  described,"  Sir  Emilius  ob- 
served, wuth  a  smile;  "but  where  does  it 
lead  us  ? " 

"  To  the  central  mystery  of  falling  in  love," 
Hubert  answ^ered,  very  seriously,  undeterred 
by  his  uncle's  bantering  tone  and  raised  eye- 
brows. *'  The  thing  is  a  miracle.  For  you 
must  remember  that  that  orange-tip  was  born 


96  A  Splendid  Sin. 

and  bred  a  small  green-and- white  caterpillar. 
He  never  knew,  as  you  and  I  do,  that  his  father 
and  mother  were  orange-tip  butterflies  before 
him.  He  never  beheld  any  previous  generation. 
He  emerged  from  the  egg,  a  tiny,  hungry  grub, 
long  after  his  parents  were  dead  and  forgotten  ; 
and  when  he  crawled  abroad  into  the  world, 
he  met  none  of  his  own  kind,  save  a  few  other 
creeping  green-and-white  caterpillars.  He 
ate  and  slept  and  never  dreamt  of  wings  or  of 
the  future  butterfly.  At  last,  one  day  as  he 
sat  on  his  native  plant,  a  curious  change  came 
slowly  over  him.  He  found  himself  melting 
away  into  a  boat-shaped  chrysalis.  A  film 
grew  over  him.  There  he  lay,  as  in  a  mummy- 
case,  growing  gradually  and  unconsciously 
into  a  full -formed  butterfly.  Yet,  how  did  he 
know,  when  he  emerged  from  the  cast  shell, 
that  he  was  a  male  orange-tip  ?  Still  more 
marvelous,  how  did  he  know  the  female  of 
his  own  species  ?  He  had  never  beheld  his 
own  wings  in  a  glass  ;  he  had  never  beheld 
any  image  of  his  beloved.  Yet,  the  moment 
he  emerged  from  the  solid  mold  in  which  he 
had  undergone  his  strange  transformation,  he 
flaunted  his  wings  at  once  by  inherited  instinct, 
so  as  to  display  the  orange  patch  he  had  never 
himself  beheld  there  !  And  when  butterflies 
of  other  kinds  appeared  on  his  path  he  took 
no  notice  of  them  ;  yet  the  moment  a  mate 
of  his  own  swam  into  his  ken,  he  instantly  and 


The  Philosophy  of  Love.  97 

unerringly  recognized  his  chosen  helpmate. 
Now,  I  call  that  a  miracle.  And  I  call  it  also 
the  best  clue  we  have  to  all  the  mystery  and 
philosophy  of  love-making." 

"  It  all  amounts  to  saying,"  Sir  Emilius  in- 
terposed, with  a  faint  dash  of  cynicism,  "that 
every  species  knows  its  own  female." 

"  It  amounts  to  a  great  deal  more  than  that, 
Uncle  Mill,"  the  young  man  continued,  with  a 
young  man's  enthusiasm.  **You  persist  in 
omitting  the  central  element  still— the  fastidious 
selectiveness.  How  does  my  orange-tip  know 
w^hen  he  has  lighted  on  the  mate  prepared 
from  of  old  for  him  ?  Must  he  not  have  some- 
where within  his  tiny  brain  and  nervous  system 
an  inherited  form  or  mold,  as  it  were,  which 
answers  exactly  to  the  image  of  his  ow^n  kind, 
and  of  the  counterpart  prepared  for  him  ? 
When  any  other  image  falls  upon  his  vague 
little  eyes  and  senses,  he  fails  to  respond  to  it. 
But  when  the  image  of  his  own  type  falls  upon 
his  retina,  it  fits  the  inherited  form  or  mold 
absolutely,  and  he  rushes  to  make  love  to  the 
creature  that  fills  it,  with  intuitive  certainty. 
The  moment  the  ancestral  mold  is  completely 
met  and  satisfied,  the  creature  that  meets  it  he 
loves  as  instinctively  as  Miranda  loved  Ferdi- 
nand— the  first  man  save  Prospero  on  whom 
her  eyes  had  lighted." 

"  Shakespeare  is  not  evidence,"  Sir  Emilius 
murmured,  with  a  contemplative  nod.  **  The 
7 


98  A  Splendid  Sin. 

case  of  Miranda  lacks  objective  confirmation. 
Besides,  what  you  say  comes  still  just  to  this 
— that  each  kind  falls  in  love  not  with  alien 
forms,  but  with  its  own  species." 

Hubert  stuck  to  his  point.  "Still,'*  he  an- 
swered warmly,  **you  are  omitting  the  selec- 
tiveness.  Love  distinguishes  and  discrimi- 
nates. Even  the  little  female  orange-tip  is  not 
ready  to  accept  without  demur  the  advances 
of  the  first  stray  suitor  who  presents  himself. 
She  picks  and  chooses.  What  do  all  her  coy- 
ness and  coquetry  mean  but  just  such  picking 
and  choosing  ?  She  pleases  herself  in  her 
choice  of  a  lover.  Not  only  has  she  imprinted 
on  her  tiny  brain  an  inherited  image  of  her  kind 
as  such,  but  also  an  inherited  image  of  the 
exact  type  of  her  kind  which  best  suits  and 
delights  her  individual  idiosyncrasy.  For, 
mark  you,  Uncle  Mill,  it  is  not  all  pure  caprice. 
This  picking  and  choosing,  again,  is  there 
for  a  reason.  It  is  only  the  most  beautiful, 
the  most  perfect,  the  most  agile,  the  most 
effective  that  get  selected  on  the  average, 
and  such  selection  increases  in  the  long  run 
the  beauty,  agility  and  effectiveness  of  the 
species. 

Mrs.  Egremont  sat  by,  listening  with  a  curi-   '  ' 
ously  attentive  face.     As  a  rule,  Hubert's  talk 
with  his  uncle  on  these  abstruse  subjects  lay  f 

on  a  plane  a  little  above  her  range  of  interests.  | 

But  his  theory  to-night  somehow  seemed  to 


The  Philosophy  of  Love.  99 

engage  her.  "  You  remind  me," — she  began, 
and  then  broke  off  suddenly. 

"  Of  what  ?"  Hubert  asked,  turning  quickly 
towards  her. 

Mrs.  Egremont  hesitated,  "Well,  I  have 
heard  the  same  thing  discussed  before,"  she 
said  very  slowly,  "  from  another  point  of 
view,  and  what  you  said  just  now  re- 
minded me  so  strangely  of — the  person  who 
discussed  it." 

**  Still,  all  this  reasoning  amounts  to  no  more 
than  what  Darwin  taught  us  long  ago,"  Sir 
Emilius  insisted.  "  I  don't  see  that  you  ad- 
vance the  matter  one  step  by  these  idyllic 
instances." 

"  What  is  true  of  the  species  is  true  of  the 
individual  too,  I  fancy,"  Hubert  went  on,  half 
dreamily.  *'  Is  it  not  the  fact  that  for  each  one 
of  us  everywhere  there  is  somewhere  a  counter- 
part, an  affinity,  as  Goethe  rightly  called  it  in 
a  phrase  now  vulgarized  out  of  all  serious  mean- 
ing, but  still  a  phrase  that  encloses,  even  so,  a 
kernel  of  truth  beyond  all  power  of  vulgar 
destructiveness  ?  I  don't  mean  necessarily 
one  affinity  alone,  but  a  relatively  small  num- 
ber of  possible  affinities.  Is  it  not  the  fact 
that,  just  in  proportion  as  we  rise  in  the  scale 
of  being,  we  find,  at  every  fresh  grade,  a  fresh 
stage  or  level  of  selectiveness — a  further  narrow- 
ing down  of  the  possible  range  of  choice  and 
of  attraction  ?    Among  the  lower  animals,  for 


100 


A  Splendid  Sin. 


example,  any  mate  will  suffice  ;  with  the 
higher,  aesthetic  preferences  begin  to  come 
into  play,  and  give  us  at  last  such  visible  re- 
sults as  the  plumage  of  the  peacock,  the  bird 
of  Paradise,  the  argus  pheasant  ;  as  the  song 
of  the  skylark,  the  linnet,  the  nightingale  ;  as 
the  grace  of  the  fallow  deer,  the  crane,  the 
squirrel.  To  this  do  we  not  owe  the  antlers  of 
the  stag,  the  crest  of  the  heron,  the  colors  of 
the  humming-bird,  the  love-cry  of  the  night- 
jar ?  So,  too,  among  men.  With  the  savage, 
almost  any  one  squaw  is  as  good  as  another  ; 
he  discriminates  little  between  woman  and 
woman.  The  rustic  begins  to  demand,  at  least, 
physical  beauty  ;  higher  cultivated  types  are 
progressively  fastidious  ;  they  ask  for  some- 
thing more  than  mere  ordinary  prettiness — 
they  must  have  soul,  and  heart,  and  intelli- 
gence, and  fancy." 

"There's  something  in  that,  no  doubt,"  Sir 
Emilius  admitted,  half  grudgingly.  ''Your 
doctrine  is,  in  short,  the  old  and  discredited 
one— that  marriages  are  made  in  heaven." 

*'  Marriages  are  made  in  heaven,"  Hubert 
answered,  accepting  his  phrase.  **  True  mar- 
riages, that  is  to  say  ;  for  a  marriage  that  is  iwt 
made  in  heaven  is  no  marriage  at  all.  It  be- 
longs—elsewhere. Higher  men  and  women 
feel  intuitively  that  only  here  and  there  in  the 
world,  perhaps  in  some  cases  only  in  one  per- 
son, can  they  find  all  the  qualities  necessary 


The  Philosophy  of  Love.  loi 

to  unite  with  and  supplement  their  own  ;  and 
for  that  one  person,  surely,  it  is  fair  to  say  that 
heaven  designed  them.  This  consciousness 
of  fitness,  this  sense  of  something  instinctive 
within  one,  drawing  one  irresistibly  to  one 
particular  soul,  is  it  not,  in  the  last  resort,  the 
voice  of  Nature  telling  us  clearly  what  mate 
the  powers  that  rule  the  universe  have  built 
and  fashioned  for  us  ?  To  neglect  its  bidding, 
to  step  aside  from  its  impulses,  to  disobey  its 
orders  for  mere  human  reason,  these  are  surely 
rebellion  to  the  divinely-appointed  monitor 
we  each  carry  within  us.  The  man  or  woman 
who  allows  any  other  consideration,  save  this 
of  immediate  fitness  for  one  another,  to  inter- 
fere in  marriage  does  obvious  wrong— at  least, 
so  I  take  it.  Money, rank,  position,  prospects, 
differences  of  creed,  differences  of  race,  differ- 
ences of  class,  differences  of  language,  the 
wishes  of  parents,  the  arrangements  of  property 
— what  are  any  of  these  to  the  inner  voice  of 
God  and  duty  ? " 

"  But  if  a  woman  has  been  coerced  ?"  Mrs. 
Egremont  put  in  eagerly.  "  If  she  has  been 
compelled  by  her  parents,  while  she  is  still 
too  young  and  unformed  for  independent 
action,  to  marry  a  man  whom  she  hates  and 
loathes,  as  often  happens,  what  hope  for  her 
then,  Hubert  ?  How  do  you  treat  her  case  ? 
What  is  her  proper  course,  her  right  plan,  her 
duty  ? " 


102 


A  Splendid  Sin. 


"  She  should  leave  him,"  Hubert  answered, 
without  one  second's  hesitation.  **  No  other 
path,  it  seems  to  me,  is  open  to  her.  For 
what  can  be  more  criminal  than  to  become 
the  mother  of  a  child  by  a  man  whose  idiosyn- 
crasy is  at  war  with  your  own,  a  man  whom 
your  own  tastes  and  sympathies  and  senses 
proclaim  to  be  unfit  for  you  ? " 

"  And  if  he  is  rightly  distasteful  to  her," 
Mrs.  Egremont  went  on,  leaning  forward,  with 
a  flushed  cheek.  '*  If  he  is,  for  example,  a 
drunkard,  or  a  gambler,  or  a  forger,  or  a 
rake,  or  a  man  of  cruelly  brutal  instincts,  you 
think  she  should  not  live  with  him  ?  She 
should  cut  herself  adrift  from  his  hateful 
presence  ? " 

'*  Of  course,"  Hubert  answered  calmly.  To 
him  this  was  all  mere  speculative  opinion. 
*'  That  is  her  clear  duty.  Ought  she  to  people 
the  world  with  children  tainted  from  their 
birth,  and  spoil  her  own  nobler  or  better 
qualities  by  admixture  with  vile  and  low  and 
unworthy  ones  ?  " 

Sir  Emilius  glanced  at  his  sister  with  an  air 
of  concern.  He  saw^  in  her  eye  a  strangely 
harassed  look  which  was  by  no  means  uncom- 
mon there.  "  Julia,  my  dear,"  he  said,  gazing 
hard  at  her,  *'  you  are  tired  to-night.  If  I 
were  you  I  wouldn't  sit  up  any  longer.  You 
need  a  good  night's  rest.  And  this  talk  of 
Hubert's    is    disturbing — with    the    clock   on 


The  Philosophy  of  Love.  103 

eleven.  Sleepless  people  should  never  ex- 
ercise their  brains  after  dinner.  I  never  ex- 
ercise mine — in  the  evening  I  am  always 
strenuously  lazy — and  I  sleep  like  a  top  from 
twelve  to  eight,  without  one  minute's  inter- 
mission." 

Mrs.  Egremont  drew  a  deep  breath.  "  Per- 
haps you  are  right,  dear,"  she  answered,  laying 
her  hand  on  her  brother's  arm,  "  though  there 
are  dozens  of  other  things  I  should  like  to  ask 
Hubert."  She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  took 
up  her  candle  reluctantly.  "  Good-night,  my 
darling,"  she  said,  kissing  him  twice  on  his 
forehead.  "  Hubert,  of  one  thing  I  am  per- 
fectly certain,  that  you  have  chosen  wisely  in 
choosing  Fede." 

Sir  Emilius,  with  his  keen  instinct  for  read- 
ing faces  and  voices,  w^as  instantly  aware  that 
she  said  it  in  part  to  cover  her  obvious  emotion, 
and  make  Hubert  think  it  was  Jiis  marriage, 
not  her  own,  that  she  had  sighed  over  so  pro- 
foundly. But  Hubert  did  not  notice  it.  Sir 
Emilius's  eye  was  keen  for  passing  emotion  : 
Hubert's,  for  the  deeper-seated  underlying 
facts  of  race  and  temperament. 

She  glided  silently  through  the  door  into 
her  bedroom,  which  communicated  with  the 
salon.  Sir  Emilius  dropped  his  voice.  "  You 
see  these  things  too  exclusively,  Hubert,"  he 
said,  settling  down  in  his  chair  again,  "  from 
the  physiological  standpoint.    You  forget  there 


104 


A  Splendid  Sin. 


is  a  social  standpoint  as  well— quite  equally 
important.  We  can't  regulate  our  marriages 
wholly  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  efficiency 
of  the  race.  We  have  to  think  of  personal 
considerations  also." 

"  Such  as  what  ? "  Hubert  asked,  pouncing 
down  upon  him. 

Sir  Emilius  hummed  and  hawed.  *'  Well, 
considerations  of  social  convenience,"  he  an- 
swered at  last,  with  some  hesitation.  **  The 
laws  and  conventions  of  civilized  society.  We 
can't  marry  our  cooks  or  our  footmen,  can 
we?" 

*'  If  a  man  wants  to  marry  his  cook,"  Hubert 
answered,  with  plain  common  sense,  "  one  of 
two  things,  1  think,  is  pretty  certain.  Either 
he's  a  man  just  fit  to  marry  a  cook,  or  else  his 
cook  is  a  woman  quite  fit  for  him  to  marry." 

**  In  the  first  case,"  Sir  Emilius  mused,  "  it 
doesn't  much  matter,  I  suppose  ;  and  in  the 
second,  there's  no  reason  why  the  woman 
shouldn't  rise  to  her  proper  station.  Well, 
you  may  be  right  there,  my  boy.  I'm  not 
prepared  to  argue  it  out  with  you  at  this  hour 
of  the  evening.  But  don't  you  think  your 
doctrine  is  liable  to  lead  on  to  all  kinds  of  im- 
morality ? " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  immorality  ? " 
Hubert  inquired,  inexorable. 

Sir  Emilius  paused  again.  **  Well,  to  a 
good  deal  of  chopping  and  changing  in  marital 


The  Philosophy  of  Love.  105 

relations,"  he  answered,  with  an  evasive  sub- 
terfuge. 

"  I  think,"  Hubert  retorted,  "  if  all  men  and 
women  formed  real  attachments  of  native 
preference  while  they  were  young  and  plastic, 
there  would  be  no  real  immorality  at  all  in  the 
world  ;  they  would  choose  instinctively  the 
persons  best  fitted  for  them,  and  would,  in  the 
vast  majority  of  cases,  never  feel  the  want  of 
any  other  affections." 

"Suppose  they  did,  though  ?"  Sir  Emilius 
urged.  "  Suppose,  for  example,  that  a  woman 
is  married  to  a  man  whom  she  grows  to  de- 
spise ;  and  suppose  that  afterwards  she  is  thrown 
in  with  another  towards  whom  she  gradually 
develops  a  deep  attachment ;  don't  you  think 
on  your  principles " 

"Well?"  Hubert  murmured,  half  smiling. 

"Don't  you  think  it  very  likely  she  might 
.  .  .  prove  unfaithful." 

Hubert's  smile  deepened.  "  Unfaithful  to 
whom  or  what  !  "  he  asked.  Herself — or  her 
husband  ?  She  proves  unfaithful  to  the  man, 
asthings  are,  under  such  circumstances,  doesn't 
she  ?  Whereas,  under  the  system  of  things 
that  would  result  from  unrestricted  natural 
marriages,  she  would  not  be  likely,  if  she  were 
a  good  woman,  ever  to  form  a  imion  that  was 
not  destined  to  be  permanent.  As  for  bad 
women,  they  will  be  bad  women,  I  fancy,  no 
matter  what  artificial  rules  you  make  to  bind 


io6 


A  Splendid  Sin. 


them.  No  doubt  a  pure-minded  woman— im- 
aginative—sensitive— married  to  a  bad  man, 
and  thrown  in  with  a  better  one " 

**  Would  lose  her  purity,"  Sir  Emilius 
suggested,  as  Hubert  cast  about  in  search  of  a 
phrase  for  a  moment. 

**  No,"  Hubert  said,  with  decision,  **  Such 
a  w^oman  could  not  lose  her  purity  ;  she  would 
only  lose  what  we  foolishly  call  her  virtue. 
She  would  be  loyal  to  herself  and  disloyal  to 
her  husband.  But  which  is  in  nature  the 
greater  crime,  do  you  think  ? — for  a  woman  to 
step  aside  with  a  man  she  truly  and  deeply 
loves,  or  to  become  the  mother  of  Nature's 
bastards  by  a  man  to  whom  she  is  married, 
though  she  loathes  and  detests  him  ?  " 

"  Dangerous  !  Very  dangerous  !  "  Sir  Emi- 
lius murmured.  *'  You  play  fast  and  loose  with 
sin.  You  undermine  the  foundations  of  civil- 
ized society." 

*'  You  know  what  George  Meredith  makes 
one  of  his  characters  say  under  such  circum- 
stances ?  "  Hubert  put  in,  still  smiling  faintly 
— "  '  The  real  sin  would  have  been  if  she  and  I 
had  met,  and — '  " 

**  And  what  ?"  Sir  Emilius  asked  quickly. 

*'  Meredith  doesn't  say,"  Hubert  answered. 
**  He  is  wise  enough  to  break  off.  He  leaves 
it  to  the  reader  to  finish  the  sentence.  But 
surely,  uncle,  there  are  positive  duties  in  life 
as  well  as  negative — things  which  it  would  be 


The  Philosophy  of  Love.  107 

wrong  of  us  to  leave  undone  as  well  as  things 
which  it  would  be  wrong  of  us  to  do — for  the 
sake  of  the  future  of  the  world  and  of  humanity." 

*'  I  fail  to  follow  you,"  Sir  Emilius  said, 
in  a  decided  voice,  taking  up  his  bedroom 
candle. 

"  If  it  is  a  duty  to  abstain  from  peopling  the 
world  with  the  unfit,"  Hubert  urged,  following 
him  up,  ''  is  it  not  equally  a  duty  to  do  what 
we  can  towards  peopling  it  with  the  fittest  ? " 

"  Hubert,  darling,"  a  tremulous  voice  broke 
in  from  the  bedroom,  "  would  you  mind  speak- 
ing just  a  little  low^er  ?  I  can  hear  all  you  say, 
so  you  keep  me  awake — and,  for  Fede's  sake, 
I  do  so  want  to  be  bright  and  fresh  to-morrow." 

But  Sir  Emilius  could  hear  that  the  voice  in 
which  his  sister  spoke  was  one  of  profound, 
though  sternly  repressed  agitation. 

Hubert  took  an  English  weekly  paper  up  to 
his  bedroom.  He  read  himself  to  sleep  over  the 
review  of  a  novel.  "  It  seems  alike  unnatural 
and  incredible,"  said  the  reviewer,  '*  that  a 
woman  of  the  high  character  of  Iris  should 
have  consented  to  live  in  any  relation  but  ab- 
solutely legal  wedlock  with  any  man."  Hubert 
did  not  know  who  Iris  was,  or  what  he  might 
have  thought  of  her  conduct  if  he  had  read  the 
story.  But  the  remark  cast  a  flood  of  light  on 
the  psychology  of  the  reviewer.  What  on  earth 
had  Iris's  high  character  to  do  with  the  ques- 
tion ?     If  he  had  said,  "  a  woman  so  prudent 


io8 


A  Splendid  Sin. 


as  Iris,"  "so  self-seeking  as  Iris,"  "  so  cautious 
as  Iris,"  Hubert  would  have  understood  it. 
But  "a  woman  of  the  high  character  of 
Iris  !  "—it  was  really  too  absurd.  He  went 
to  sleep  smiling  at  it. 


Matrimonial  Business.  109 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MATRIMONIAL   BUSINESS. 

At  breakfast  next  morning,  Fede  wore  the 
white  rose  Hubert  had  pinned  the  night  before 
into  her  evening  bodice.  It  had  somehow  un- 
accountably got  crushed  meanwhile — behind 
the  rhododendrons  ;  but  it  revived  in  water, 
and  looked  almost  as  well  as  ever  in  the  pretty 
pink  blouse  she  wore  down  to  breakfast.  Only 
Mrs.  Egremont  (being  a  woman)  noticed  its 
tumbled  condition,  and  mentally  accounted 
for  it  vj'ith  a  motherly  smile  ;  for  Mrs.  Egre- 
mont had  been  young,  and  was  young  enough 
still  to  sympathize  with  lovers. 

Fede  certainly  was  charming.  The  mixture 
of  the  hot  Italian  woman  and  the  bright  Eng- 
hsh  girl  in  her  made  a  delicious  compound. 
"  A  co-inheritor  on  one  side  with  Dante  and 
Giotto,"  Hubert  said  ;  **  a  co-inheritor  on  the 
other  with  Shakespeare  and  Darwin."  As  she 
smiled  across  the  table,  with  a  flush  of  timidity 
on  her  dark  olive  cheek,  at  her  future  mother- 
in-law,  Julia  Egremont  felt  she  had  never  yet 
seen  any  girl  so  attractive.     It  is  seldom  one's 


no  A  Splendid  Sin.' 

children  choose  the  wives  one  thinks  fit  for 
them  ;  but  if  Mrs.  Egremont  had  been  asked 
to  select  for  Hubert,  she  could  not  have 
picked  out  anyone  more  to  her  taste  than  Fede. 

"  And  then  just  look  at  her  antecedents," 
Hubert  said  to  her  with  pride,  when  they  met 
in  their  salon  three  minutes  before  breakfast. 
"  Could  any  one  have  a  better  or  finer  re- 
cord ?  HerfatherisaTornabuoni  ;  and  you've 
only  to  look  at  him  to  see  at  a  glance  he  is 
straight,  and  well-built,  and  noble,  and  honor- 
able— an  Italian  gentleman  to  the  core,  every 
inch  of  him  !  And  her  mother,  an  English 
lady — a  Warwickshire  Hampden,  indirectly 
descended  from  the  great  John  Hampden,  and 
belonging  therefore  to  one  of  the  soundest 
and  ablest  families  in  England.  I  don't  care 
twopence  myself  about  family  from  any  other 
point  of  view  ;  of  course,  I  don't  want  to  marry 
the  last  girl  of  a  decadent  stock,  not  if  she  w^ere 
the  daughter  of  a  hundred  silly  or  drunken 
earls  ;  but  surely,  noblesse  oblige^  and  a  phys- 
iologist at  least  ought  to  take  care  he's  marry- 
ing into  a  good  sound  stock  that  will  do  credit 
to  his  children." 

"  Besides  which,"  Uncle  Emilius  added 
maliciously,"  you're  in  love  with  Fede." 

It's  the  same  thing,"  Hubert  answered  stur- 
dily not  yielding  one  jot  or  tittle  of  his  argu- 
ment. "If  people  fall  in  love,  that  shows 
they're  eternally  meant  for  one  another. 


Matrimonial  Business.  iii 

They're  the  pair  whom  Nature  designs  to 
unite.  Its  your  loveless  marriages  that  do  all 
the  harm.  Considerations  of  money,  conve- 
nience, rank,  birth  and  religion — those  lead  to 
unions  with  no  final  reality  in  them.  But  I'm 
in  love  with  Fede — because  Fede  is  good  and 
beautiful  and  sound  and  strong  and  attractive  ; 
which  means,  she  is  the  girl  I  ought  to  marry." 

"  Q.  E.  D.,"  Uncle  Emilius  responded,  w4th 
his  hand  on  the  door.  **  After  which,  I  pro- 
pose to  go  down  to  breakfast." 

The  Marchese,  however,  took  a  more  medi- 
aeval and  commercial  view  of  married  relations 
than  Hubert.  As  soon  as  breakfast  w^as  over, 
he  drew  Uncle  Emilius  aside  into  the  salon  ot 
number  twenty,  and  requested  the  honor  of  a 
few  minutes'  conversation  alone  with  him.  Be- 
ing a  man  of  business,  he  saw  at  once  that  Uncle 
Emilius  was  more  likely  to  give  dispassionate 
consideration  to  practical  details  than  Hubert 
himself  in  his  present  condition. 

The  interview  was  satisfactory.  "Then  I 
quite  understand."  the  Marchese  observed  at 
the  end  of  it.  **  Mrs.  Egremont's  estate,  being 
worth  what  you  say,  is  absolutely  entailed  on 
the  children  of  the  marriage.  The  Property  is 
not  at  her  own  disposal.  It  follows  the  name. 
And  she  has  no  other  child  but  Mr.  Hubert." 

"Precisely,"  the  doctor  answered,  stroking 
his  chin  after  his  wont.  "And  I  believe— I  do 
not  know — but  I  believe— and  will  ascertain— 


112  A  Splendid  Sin. 

that  my  sister  desires  to  make  a  proper  and 
ample  provision,  meanwhile,  for  the  Marchesa 
Fede." 

'*  After  her  death — your  sister's,  I  mean — Mr, 
Hubert  must  necessarily  inherit  everything  ? " 

"  Yes,  absolutely  everything." 

'*  Her  husband  was  a  military  man,  I  under- 
stand ?  "  the  Marchese  continued  tentatively. 

"Colonel  Egremont  ? — he  was.  He  had 
served  in  India." 

"  A  colonel  ?  So  !  I  must  telegraph  full  de- 
tails of  the  arrangement,  you  see,  to  Florence." 
And  he  made  a  little  note  of  it. 

Sir  Emilius  looked  doubtful.  **  Well,  be- 
tween you  and  me,"  he  remarked  after  a  pause, 
stroking  his  chin  with  one  dubitative  hand, 
"  I  don't  know  that  I  would  make  a  great  point 
of  the  Colonel.  He  was — well — a  bit  of  a 
scamp,  I'm  bound  to  admit.  There  are  black 
sheep,  you  see,  in  every  family.  He  gave  my 
sister  a  good  deal  of  trouble." 

The  Marchese  was  a  man  of  the  world  ;  and 
besides,  he  knew  the  exacting  morality  of  these 
extraordinary  English.  With  them,  a  married 
man — but  there.  No  Tuscan  gentleman  could 
ever  endure  it.  '*  Oh,  of  course,"  he  answered 
diplomatically,  **  we  understand  these  things. 
Military  men  have  a  code  of  their  ow^n.  And 
in  India,  too,  you  say  !  Those  very  hot 
climates  ! " 

**  But  Hubert,"  Sir  Emilius  went  on,  with 


Matrimonial  Business.  113 

avuncular  pride,  "  Hubert's  a  young  fellow  to 
be  proud  of.  He  carried  everything  before 
him  in  science  at  Oxford.  He's  a  rising  phy- 
siologist, sure  of  election  to  the  Royal  Society. 
And — he's  also  a  poet." 

*' A  poet  !  That's  bad,"  the  Marchese  cried, 
drawing  back.  **  These  poets  play  ducks  and 
drakes  with  their  money." 

Sir  Emilius  assumed  at  once  his  blandest 
air — the  air  with  which  he  assured  the  nervous 
lady-patient  there  was  nothing  on  earth  the 
matter  with  her  digestive  economy.  *'  But  my 
dear  sir,"  he  put  in,  "  the  man  of  science  in 
Hubert  outbalances  the  poet.  It's  a  capital 
mixture.  Enough  imagination  to  save  him 
from  being  dry  ;  enough  steady  ballast  to  keep 
him  from  being  wild  and  mad  and  reckless. 
He's  my  favorite  nephew — like  one  of  my  own 
boys  to  me  !  " 

This  was  an  opening  for  the  Marchese  to 
explore  the  question  of  contingent  remainders. 
"Then  you  have  children  of  your  own  ?"  he 
interposed  dubiously. 

Sir  Emilius  drew  one  weary  hand  across  his 
ample  brow.  "Children?"  he  cried.  "Oh, 
dear,  yes  !  My  quiver  full  of  them  !  In  fact, 
I  may  say,  twelve  go  to  the  quiverful." 

The  Marchese  made  a  mental  note  of  the 

fact.    No  windfalls  from //;a/ quarter  !     "Well, 

you'll  excuse  my  being  businesslike,"  he  said, 

with  his  expansive  smile,  stroking  the  black 
0 


114  A  Splendid  Sin. 

mustache  pensively.  "We  Italians  treat  these 
affairs  from  a  strictly  legal  standpoint.  And 
in  the  present  depressed  condition  of  the  wine- 
market  " — the  Marchese  delivered  those  well- 
worn  words  in  his  most  impressive  style— he  had 
had  much  practice — "  before  I  allowed  matters 
to  go  a  step  further  between  Fede  and  your 
nephew,  I  felt  I  must  understand  his  financial 
position." 

He  paused  a  moment,  expecting  Sir  Emilius 
to  inquire  in  turn  what  provision  he  meant  to 
make,  per  contrUy  for  his  daughter's  future. 
But,  to  say  the  truth.  Sir  Emilius,  like  a  true- 
born  Briton,  had  never  even  conceived  that  a 
"  foreign  "  nobleman  could  make  any  provision 
of  any  sort  for  his  family.  The  moment  he  heard 
Hubert  was  going  to  marry  the  daughter  of  an 
Italian  marquis,  he  made  up  his  mind  it  must 
be  a  pure  love-match,  and  put  considerations 
of  money  out  of  court  entirely.  For  it  is  the 
fixed  belief  of  Uncle  Emilius's  kind  that  all 
foreign  noblemen  are  penniless  adventurers, 
perpetually  on  the  lookout  for  a  British  heiress 
or  an  American  millionairess,  to  keep  the  pot 
boiling.  So  he  merely  observed  in  an  acquies- 
cent tone,  "We  may  gather,  then,  Marchese, 
that  you  offer  no  obstacle  ? " 

The  Marchese  jumped  at  this  view  of  the 
question.  "  I  offer  no  obstacle,"  he  answered, 
with  an  air  of  the  greatest  magnanimity ; 
though,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  would  have  been 


Matrimonial  Business.  iiS 

prepared  to  make  a  settlement  upon  Fede  if  Sir 
Emilius  had  asked  for  it.  "  You  see,  if  my 
daughter  were  an  only  child  we  could  afford 
to  do  more  for  her ;  but  as  she  has  two 
brothers " 

The  idea  struck  Sir  Emilius  as  novel— nay, 
almost  brilliant.  An  Italian  nobleman  portion 
his  daughter  who  was  marrying  an  English- 
man !  Original,  really  !  "  Oh,  we're  perfectly 
satisfied  as  to  that,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  The 
provision  my  sister  means  to  make  for  the 
Marchesa  will  be  ample — ample.  The  fact  of 
it  is,  my  nephew  is  /;/  love  with  your  daughter ; 
and  all  we  require  is  your  consent  to  the 
marriage.  That  being  given,  I  think  nothing 
else  need  detain  us." 

*'  Certainly  not,"  the  Marchese  replied.  He 
rose  from  his  chair  and  began  to  move  round 
Mrs.  Egremont's  salon,  in  which  they  had  been 
sitting.  A  photograph  in  a  frame  on  the 
mantelpiece  caught  his  eye.  **  Ha,  an  old 
friend  ! "  he  cried,  taking  it  up  and  looking  at  it. 

Sir  Emilius  nodded.  "  Yes,  the  great 
American  poet,"  he  said.     "  You  knew  him  ?" 

The  Marchese  expanded  visibly  to  the  naked 
eye.  **  When  he  lived  at  Florence — yes  ;  I 
knew  him  intimately.  Who  that  loved  Italy 
did  not  know  the  poet  ?  Who  was  not  proud 
of  his  love  for  our  country  ? " 

"  But  I  thought  you  had  a  feeble  opinion  of 
poets  ? "     Sir  Emilius  put  in  maliciously. 


ii6  A  Splendid  Sin. 

The  Marchese  snapped  his  fingers.  "As 
sons-in-law,  yes,  I  grant  you.  But,  him !  ah, 
there,  he  was  a  Man,  your  poet ! " 

"  He  was,"  Sir  Emilius  admitted  with  caution. 

"We  count  him  our  own,"  the  Itahan  con- 
tinued enthusiastically.  "Look  w^hat  he  did 
for  Italian  unity  ! "  He  put  his  hand  on  his 
heart.  "We  are  businesslike,  we  Italians,"  he 
went  on,  "  but  we  are  not  ungrateful.  Your  poet 
forged  a  golden  chain  which  linked  together 
Florence,  London,  America.  After  Mazzini 
and  Garibaldi,  what  man  of  our  time  so  deeply 
stirred  the  soul  of  Italy  ?  " 

Sir  Emilius  was  unprepared  for  such  a 
burst  of  emotion.  The  Englishman  keeps  all 
his  sentiment  for  the  family :  the  Italian  be- 
stows it  rather  on  his  country.  "  He  was  an 
intimate  friend  of  m)''  sister's,"  he  said  drily, 
distrusting  these  transports.  "She  admired 
his  work.  She  carries  his  portrait  about  with 
her  everywhere." 

"/;i  a  silver  frame,"  the  Italian  added,  looking 
hard  at  it. 

"  Eh  ?  Quite  so,"  Sir  Emilius  answered, 
not  grasping  his  mieaning. 

The  Marchese  mused  aloud.  "  This  world's 
an  enigma,"  he  said.  "  Yet  sometimes  one 
gets  a  clue  that  leads  one  through  it. — Well, 
well.  Sir  Emilius,  I  think  we  perfectly  under- 
stand each  other.  Suppose  we  adjourn  for 
a  while  to  the  writing-room,  where  we  can  get 


Matrimonial  Business.  117 

pen  and  paper,  and  reduce  the  terms  of  our 
agreement  to  writing  ?  For  this  being  a  mar- 
riage,  you  see— an  affair  of  importance~vve 
must  of  course  leave  nothing  to  feeling,  but 
treat  it  in  every  way  as  a  matter  of  busmess." 


ii8  A  Splendid  Sin. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AN  UNEXPECTED  INTERVIEW. 

While  the  two  men  of  business  were  en- 
gaged on  these  practical  details  in  the  salon^ 
Mrs.  Egremont,  Fede,  and  Hubert  had  slipped 
out  into  the  garden.  For  a  while  they  kept  to- 
gether ;  but  after  twenty  minutes  or  so,  the 
mother  dropped  quietly  and  naturally  into  the 
background — she  knew  her  place,  she  said  to 
herself  with  some  tinge  of  a  mother's  irrepres- 
.sible  feeling  when  she  first  finds  herself  rele- 
gated to  a  secondary  rank  in  her  son's  estima- 
tion— and  allowed  the  young  people  to  wander 
off  by  themselves  among  the  roses  and  rhodo- 
dendrons. She  would  write  a  letter  home,  she 
thought,  under  the  shade  of  the  trees  ;  and  she 
beckoned  to  Rosa,  the  round-faced  chamber- 
maid, from  the  window  to  come  to  her. 

"Bring  me  the  wTiting-case  from  number 
twenty,"  she  said,  '*  and  a  postage-stamp  for 
England.     The  concierge  will  give  you  one." 

"  Yes,  madame,"  Rosa  answered,  in  her 
most  insinuating  voice.  **  And  madame's 
shawl,  n'est-cc  fas  f  Madame  may  catch  a 
chill  if  she  sits  under  the  trees  here." 


An  Unexpected  Interview.  119 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  Mrs.  Egremont  answered, 
with  her  soft,  subdued  smile.  "  How  thought- 
ful of  you,  Rosa  !  " 

The  girl  tripped  away,  with  the  affected 
mincing  step  of  the  Bernese  chambermaid 
when  tricked  out  in  her  finery  ;  and  was  back 
again  in  a  minute  with  the  writing  materials 
and  shawl,  as  well  as  a  footstool.  She  arranged 
it  carefully  under  Mrs.  Egremont's  feet,  with 
obtrusive  politeness. 

"  Oh,  thanks,  Rosa,"  the  lady  said,  with 
another  gentle  smile.  "  How  very  kind  and 
good  you  always  are  to  me  !  " 

**  Oh,  madame,"  Rosa  answered,  in  her  in- 
sinuating voice  ;  "  it  is  always  a  pleasure  to 
do  anything  for  madame.  Madame  is  so  gra- 
cious ! " 

She  moved  up  the  steps  again.  As  she 
passed,  the  concierge  muttered,  '^  You  do  make 
up  to  her  !  " 

Rosa  smiled  and  tossed  her  head.  "  Last 
chance  for  the  season  ! "  she  answered  flip- 
pantly, in  quite  a  different  voice,  and  in  her 
own  broad  dialect.  '*  She's  good  for  twenty 
francs.  If  I  carney  her  enough,  she  may  make 
it  forty.  Besides,  I'd  like  to  get  a  good  place 
in  England  ! " 

It  is  the  modern  Eldorado  of  Bernese  cham- 
bermaids. It  may  lead  to  apotheosis— marry- 
ing the  butler  ! 

Mrs.  Egremont  sat  writing  some  minutes  in 


120  A  Splendid  Sin. 

silence.  Her  letter  was  full  of  Hubert  and 
Fede.  The  girl  was  a  dear  girl — a  very  dear 
girl — and  yet,  of  course,  it  was  hard  for  a  mother 
to  lose  the  chief  place  in  her  boy's  affection. 
But  she  was  more  than  satisfied  :  it  was  wrong 
of  her  even  to  hint  her  personal  feelings.  She 
was  ashamed  to  think  she  could  be  so  selfish. 

As  she  wrote,  a  figure  glided  silently  across 
the  lawn.  It  was  clad  in  a  shabby  old  tourist 
tweed  suit  and  it  walked  with  some  difficulty, 
lifting  each  foot  with  care,  as  is  the  habit  of 
men  in  the  middle  stages  of  locomotor  ataxy. 
The  hoary  old  reprobate  had  breakfasted  in  his 
room,  and  had  stolen  out  at  last  in  search  of 
an  opportunity  for  carrying  a  scheme  he  had 
planned  into  execution. 

He  stole  up  to  her  so  quietly,  with  catlike 
tread,  that  he  was  close  by  her  side  before  Julia 
Egremontsaw  him.  Hisshadowon  her  paper 
first  called  her  attention.  She  looked  up,  and 
gave  a  start  of  mingled  surprise  and  terror. 

'*  What !  Walter  ?  "  she  cried.  "  You  here  ! 
Oh,  for  God's  sake,  what  do  you  mean  by  it?" 

The  Colonel  drew  himself  up  jauntily. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  he  answered,  fixing  his  eye- 
glass in  his  eye,  **it's  me;  or,  to  be  more 
strictly  grammatical,  it's  I,  at  your  service. 
*An  unexpected  pleasure,'  you  say.  Well, 
an  unexpected  pleasure."  He  drew  back  a 
pace  and  gazed  at  her.  **You  hardly  supposed 
you'd  see  me  in  this  out-of-the-way  place,  did 


An  Unexpected  Interview.  121 

you  ?  "  he  went  on,  with  hateful  banter.  "  Oh, 
no,  of  course  not.  In  point  of  fact,  that's  ex- 
actly why  you  came  here.  You  avoided 
Florence,  for  fear  of  meeting  me.  How  did  I 
find  out  your  plan  ?  I  see  you  asking  yourself 
that  mental  question.  Well,  it's  as  simple  as 
getting  drunk,  and  much  less  costly.  I  was 
over  at  Lugano,  boring  myself  to  death  in  a 
bad  hotel,  and  baking  myself  to  blazes,  when  I 
happened  to  see  your  respected  name  in  the 
Stviss  Times  on  the  visitors'  list  at  the  Black 
Eagle.  '  A  rare  chance,'  thought  I  to  myself, 
'  of  seeing  dear  Julia ! '  When  a  man's  been 
separated  so  long  from  his  wife,  the  sight  of 
her  name  naturally  produces  in  his  mind  an 
immediate  access  of  deferred  affection.  He 
takes  the  arrears  out,  so  to  speak.  So  into  the 
train  I  jumped,  took  the  Gotthard  to  Goe- 
schenen,  walked  over  the  pass,  didn't  kill  my- 
self on  the  glacier,  descended  on  the  valley,  and 
— here  I  am  at  last,  my  dear  girl,  to  adore  you  !  " 

He  held  out  both  hands,  palm  outward,  in 
an  imploring  attitude.  But  his  face  was  all 
mockery.  Mrs.  Egremont  rose  from  her  seat 
in  an  agony  of  terror. 

"  Oh,  go,  go,  go  !"  she  cried.  '''  How  could 
you  be  so  imprudent  ?  What  should  I  do  if 
Hubert  were  to  come  up  and  see  you  ?  He's 
here  at  the  hotel  with  me." 

"So  I  saw  in  the  newspaper.  And,  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  that  seemed  to  me  an  additional 


122  A  Splendid  Sin. 

reason  for  paying  my  respects  to  you.  It's 
high  time  the  boy  knew  his  own  father." 

Mrs.  Egremont  wrung  her  hands. 

"Walter,"  she  moaned,  "you  are  merciless." 
She  cast  her  eyes  about  her  hastily,  as  if  looking 
for  shelter.  "  You  have  broken  your  compact," 
she  went  on.  "  Didn't  you  promise  me  faith- 
fully you'd  never  come  north  of  the  Alps  with- 
out leave  ?  Don't  I  pay  you  five  hundred  a 
year  to  live  away  from  England  ?  Haven't  I  got 
your  own  name  to  the  agreement  on  paper  ? " 

Colonel  Egremont  eyed  her  through  his 
eyeglass  with  a  complacent  smile.  "Well,  I'm 
not  north  of  the  Alps,  am  I  ? "  he  answered, 
gazing  about  him  at  the  mountains  with  un- 
ruffled geniality.  "  I'm  here  in  the  midst  of 
*em.  Jolly  fine  Alps,  too  ;  as  large  as  they 
make  'em.  Besides,  if  it  comes  to  that,  didn't 
>'o/^  promise  once  to  love,  honor  and  obey  me  ? " 
He  held  out  his  arms  once  more  with  mock 
pathos — that  loathsome,  bloated  man.  "  Do 
you  love  me  riowf"  he  asked.  "Z)o  you 
honor  me  ?    Do  you  obey  me  ? " 

Mrs.  Egremont  shuddered. 

"God  help  me,  no!"  she  cried, with  a  wild 
gesture  of  repugnance.  "  How  could  any 
one  love  or  honor  or  obey  such  a  creature  as 
you  are  ?" 

The  Colonel  was  cool  as  indifference  could 
make  him.  "  Very  well,  then,"  he  said,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders.     "  There  you  are,  my  good 


An  Unexpected  Interview.  123 

woman.  You  see  how  you  keep  )^our  own 
promises,  Julia." 

His  wife  recoiled  from  him.  His  very  look 
repelled  her.  "  It  was  a  wicked  and  a  foolish 
one,"  she  said.  "  I  ought  never  to  have  made 
it.  Promise  to  do  or  not  to  do,  if  you  will ; 
but  promise  to  feel  or  not  to  feel — what  a  trans- 
parent absurdity  !  " 

Colonel  Egremont  surveyed  her  satirically 
through  his  pince-nez.  **And  this,  I  suppose," 
he  said  at  last,  "  is  the  New  Morality." 

The  unhappy  woman  sank  into  a  seat  and 
half-covered  her  face.  "  I  don't  know  whether 
it's  new  or  old,"  she  answered,  shrinking  from 
him.  "  But  this  I  do  know,  that  I  cannot  pos- 
sibly have  any  feeling  now  but  disgust  and 
loathing  for  you." 

Colonel  Egremont  dropped  into  a  rustic  seat 
and  unbuttoned  his  coat.  *'  Oh,  pray  go  on," 
he  observed,  in  a  sarcastic  voice.  "  Don't 
trouble  about  me.  Forgive  my  intrusion. 
Excuse  me  for  existing  !  " 

His  wife  rose  wildly  again,  and  approached 
him  in  her  despair.  "  No,  finish  it  off  at  once," 
she  cried,  pulling  out  her  purse.  **  How  much 
do  you  want  ?  Name  your  own  price  !  I  know 
one  thing  alone  ever  brings  you  near  me.  Say 
what  you  demand,  and  go.  But  don't  shame 
me  before  Hubert.  If  he  were  to  come — oh, 
my  God,  it  would  kill  me  !  " 

"  No,  it  wouldn't,"  the  Colonel  answered. 


124  A  Splendid  Sin. 

with  the  air  of  one  who  has  tried,  and  knows. 
"  It  takes  a  good  deal  to  kill  a  woman.  You're 
too  tough  for  that,  by  half.  Besides,  you 
needn't  be  in  such  an  unseemly  hurry."  He 
assumed  once  more  his  mock-pathetic  tone. 
'*  Why  accuse  your  own  lawful  husband  of 
mercenary  conduct  ?"  he  asked,  holding  out 
both  hands  in  a  theatrical  appeal.  "  Is  filthy 
lucre  everything  ?  Don't  you  allow  som^  weight 
to  the  strength  of  the  natural  affections  ?  It's 
five  years  since  we  had  the  mutual  pleasure  of 
meeting.  It  will,  doubtless,  be  five  years  more 
before  we  have  a  chance  of  that  pleasure  again. 
Let  us  enjoy  at  least  some  little  interchange  of 
social  amenities  before  we  proceed  to  the  dull 
and  dry  details  of  pecuniary  arrangements.** 

Mrs.  Egremont  drew  back  from  him.  "  Are 
you  absolutely  heartless  ?"  she  murmured. 

**  Not  at  all,  my  love  ;  not  at  all,"  the  creature 
replied,  with  that  unspeakable  ogle.  "  I'm 
insisting  on  the  sacred  privileges  of  domestic 
intercourse.  It's  you,  my  dear,  who  display  a 
base  desire  to  reduce  the  relations  between  us 
to  the  barest  rudiments  of  a  commercial  basis." 

He  lunged  forward,  awkwardly,  with  an  at- 
tempt to  kiss  her.  Mrs.  Egremont  sprang  back 
with  a  wild  little  scream  of  horror.  "  Walter," 
she  cried,  "  you're  drunk  !  "  And  she  tore 
herself  away  from  him. 

*'  Why,  of  course  ;  yes,  I'm  drunk,"  the  man 
answered,   laughing    hoarsely.     "  You    don't 


An  Unexpected  Interview.  125 

suppose  I  was  going  to  take  the  trouble  to  get 
sober,  just  because  I  was  coming  to  see  yoit^ 
do  you  ?  But  Fm  not  so  drunk  as  usual  by  a 
long  way,  for  all  that,"  He  drew  himself  up 
with  tipsy  solemnity.  "  Matter  has  three  states," 
he  said,  *'  solid,  liquid,  and  gaseous.  /  have 
three  states — drunk,  very  drunk,  and  dead 
drunk.  I'm  only  just  simple  drunk  at  present  ; 
and  that's  quite  as  much  as  you  could  expect 
from  me,  Julia." 

He  drew  a  step  closer.  Mrs.  Egremont 
held  out  her  hand  to  repel  him.  "  Stand  off, 
sir  !  "  she  cried.  **  Don't  come  one  pace  nearer, 
and  don't  presume  to  address  me  by  my  Chris- 
tian name  !  Take  your  money  and  go  !  If 
you  don't  respect  me,  you  might  at  least  respect 
Hubert." 

She  glanced  around  her,  terrified  lest  Hubert 
should  come  up.  But  Colonel  Egremont  only 
gazed  back  at  her  with  a  vacant  smile.  "  Might 
I,  really  ?  "  he  murmured.  "  What !  get  sober 
for  Hubert  ?  Oh,  no  ;  hang  it  all,  I'm  as  sober 
this  moment  as  ever  I  mean  to  be."  He  drew 
himself  up  for  a  moment.  *'  Do  you  remember 
when  I  had  charge  of  the  casting  at  Woolwich 
Arsenal  ?  "  he  inquired. 

*'  Do  I  remember  ? "  his  wife  answered. 
"  Can  I  ever  forget  it  ?  " 

"Well,  don't  you  recollect,  if  we  once  let 
the  fires  down  in  the  blast-furnace,  it  took  us 
a  week,  and  two  hundred  tons  of  coal,  ever  to 


126  A  Splendid  Sin. 

get  them  back  properly  into  working  order. 
Now,  I'm  just  like  a  blast-furnace.  If  once  I 
got  sober,  it  'ud  take  me  a  week,  and  two  dozen 
of  brandy,  to  get  comfortably  drunk  again." 

Mrs.  Egremont's  fingers  trembled  on  her 
purse.  She  looked  round  her  once  more  with 
a  piteous  glance.  "  Oh,  Walter  !  "  she  cried, 
"  for  heaven's  sake,  have  mercy  upon  me  ! 
Name  your  own  price  ;  but  name  it  quickly  !  " 

Colonel  Egremont  gazed  down  through  his 
pince-nez  most  contemptuously  on  the  purse. 
"What,  gold  ?"  he  said.  "  Notes  ?  Do  you 
take  me  for  an  idiot  ?  Do  you  think  I  came 
all  the  way  from  Lugano  for  that?  No,  no, 
my  dear  Julia,  I  value  the  domestic  affections 
a  world  too  high  to  dream  of  curtailing  this 
delightful  visit  under  a  couple  of  hundred 
pounds.  I  suppose  you  have  your  cheque- 
book ? " 

"  A  couple  of  hundred  pounds  !  "  Mrs.  Egre- 
mont echoed.     "  Walter,  it's  impossible." 

"  Impossible  !  Not  at  all  !  Or — I  come 
back  to  Milworth.  Now,  don't  look  so  appalled ; 
and  don't  plead  poverty.  When  I  married 
you,  you  had  a  nice  little  fortune  of  your  own, 
dear  lady.  Consider  how  you've  treated  me. 
We'd  lived  only  five  years  together,  like  a  pair 
of  turtle-doves — coo,  coo,  and  nestle — when, 
all  at  once,  you  refuse  me  the  privilege  of  re- 
siding with  you  any  longer." 

**  Because  no  self-respecting  woman  could 


An  Unexpected  Interview.  127 

degrade  herself  one  day  more  by  admitting 
your  presence  in  her  house,  Walter." 

The  Colonel  took  no  notice  of  the  interrup- 
tion, but  continued  his  monologue.  **  And  as 
you  had,  by  settlement,  the  power  of  the 
purse— all  through  your  father's  confounded 
pig-headedness — you  extort  from  me  an  absurd 
and  ridiculous  bargain  that  I  must  pass  my 
winters  at  Nice,  Cannes,  Algiers,  Monte  Carlo, 
and  my  summers  in  the  Apennines  or  Lord 
knows  where,  so  long  as  it's  a  good  three  hun- 
dred miles  away  from  you.  I  ask  you,  is  that  the 
right  way  to  treat  the  man  you  promised  to 
love,  honor,  obey,  and  cherish  ?  Well,  now, 
I've  broken  loose  !  I'm  not  going  to  stand  it  ! 
Vm  a  free  man,  am  I  not  ?  I'm  an  English 
gentlem.an  ? " 

"You  were  once,"  Mrs?  Egremont  answered, 
surveying  him  despairingly. 

The  Colonel  drew  himself  up  with  military 
pride.  ''  And  I  mean  henceforth,"  he  said, 
"  to  resume  my  proper  place  in  society.  I 
will  no  longer  accept  your  miserable  pittance." 
He  reeled  for  a  second,  and  steadied  himself, 
repeating  once  more  the  words,  ''  miserable 
pittance."  **  That's  not  intoxication,"  he  went 
on  ;  "  that's  this  beastly  ataxy.  But  my  terms 
are  simple — two  hundred  down,  I  say,  and  an 
advance  to  a  thousand  a  year  in  future  !  " 

"  Walter,  I  can't  do  it.  The  estate  won't 
stand  it." 


128  A  Splendid  Sin. 

The  bloated  face  was  wrinkled  with  a  cynical 
smile  of  disbelief.  **  It  won't  do,"  the  man 
answered,  shaking  his  head.  "  You  can't 
come  it  over  me.  I  know  that  silly  cry — 
agricultural  depression.  Everybody  uses  it 
now  as  an  excuse  for  meanness.  But  it  won't 
go  dow^n  here  !  You  must  pay  up,  I  say — or 
take  me  back  at  Mihvorth." 

Mrs.  Egremont's  face  was  deadly  white  ; 
but  her  voice  was  resolute.  "  I  will  not  pay 
you,"  she  said.     "  I  will  not — and  I  cannot." 

The  Colonel  sprang  forward  unsteadily,  and 
seized  her  wrists  in  his  hands.  He  was  a 
powerful  man  still,  in  spite  of  the  ataxy. 
"  You  won't  pay  up,  w^on't  you  ?  "  he  cried,  in 
a  threatening  voice.  "  We'll  see  about  that  !  " 
He  wrenched  her  wrists  hard.  "Will  you  or 
won't  you  ? "  he  cried  angrily,  twisting  them. 

"  Let  me  go,  sir,"  Mrs.  Egremont  exclaimed, 
with  a  little  cry  of  pain.  "  Remember,  if 
Hubert  comes  and  finds  out  who  you  are,  you 
lose  your  last  hold  on  me.  Only  for  his  sake 
do  I  allow  you  anything." 

"  Will  you  sign  ? "  the  Colonel  asked,  giving 
her  WTist  another  wrench. 

"  I  will  not,"  Mrs.  Egremont  answered,  in 
great  pain,  but  immovable.  "  Oh,  let  go  ;  you 
hurt  me  !  " 

**  I  niean  to  hurt  you.     Sign  ? " 

"  Take  your  hands  off  me,  I  say  !  How 
dare  you  touch  me  ? " 


An  Unexpected  Interview.  129 

The  Colonel  wrenched  again.  "  I  won't  let 
you  go,"  he  said,  '*  till  you've  promised  to 
arrange  with  me." 

"  Never  !  "  Mrs.  Egremont  cried.  "  never  !  " 
She  lifted  her  voice  and  called  aloud  in  her 
torture,  "  Emilius  !  Emilius  !  " 

Next    moment,    an  apparition  of  a  dainty 
morning  dress  round  a  corner  of  the  shrubbery 
— and— Fede  and  Hubert  stood  full  in  view  of 
them. 
9 


I30  A  Splendid  Sin. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  COLONEL  SCORES. 

Hubert  saw  nothing  but  r.  man — a  vile- 
looking  man,  the  hardened  drunkard  of  the 
previous  evening — holding  his  mother's  wrists 
and  evidently  tr3dng  to  bully  her.  In  a  second 
he  had  rushed  forward  and  seized  the  fellow's 
hands.  *'  Stand  back,  sir  !  "  he  cried,  flinging 
him  off.  *'  How  dare  you  ?  How  dare  you  ?" 
And  he  threw  the  Colonel  aside  with  a  violent 
effort.  *'  Mother,  what  does  this  mean  ?"  he 
exclaimed,  gazing  gently  at  her.  "  Who  is 
this  man  that's  frightening  you  !  " 

The  worst  had  come  !  At  sight  of  her  son, 
Mrs.  Egremont  sank  back,  pale  and  trembling, 
into  her  seat,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  shame  and  fear  fighting  hard  in  her. 
**  Oh,  Hubert,  what  shall  I  do  ? "  she  moaned 
aloud,  through  her  sobs.  Then  she  turned  to 
the  Colonel.  "  Go,  go,"  she  wailed  again. 
**  I  can't  stand  it !  Go  !  "  And  she  trembled 
violently. 

Hubert  faced  the  man  again.  The  Colonel 
posed  there,  with  an  affected  air  of  gentlemanly 


The  Colonel  Scores.  131 

indifference.  "  Explain,  sir  !  "  Hubert  cried, 
confronting  him.  "  How  dare  you  lay  your 
hands  on  this  lady  ? "  And  a  twitch  in  his 
foot  displayed  his  first  impulse. 

Colonel  Egremont  drew  himself  up  with  a 
conscious  effort.  "  You  demand  an  explana- 
tion ? "  he  said  slowly,  facing  him. 

**  I  do,"  the  young  man  answered,  hardly 
able  to  address  him. 

*'  No,  Hubert,  no,"  Mrs.  Egremont  moaned, 
pleading,  and  holding  his  arm. 

"  I  demand  it,"  Hubert  answered  again, 
laying  one  soothing  hand  on  his  mother's 
shoulder. 

*'  Then  you  shall  have  it,"  the  Colonel 
replied,  with  what  shred  of  dignity  was  left 
him.  He  drew  a  card  from  his  pocket,  and 
handed  it  to  Hubert.  "  TJicre  is  my  name, 
young  man, '  he  went  on  in  a  very  deliberate 
way.  "  This  lady  is  my  wife.  And  you,  I 
presume,  are  my  son — Hubert  Egremont." 

Hubert  glanced  at  the  card  in  a  whirl  of 
amazement.  The  world  swam  round  him. 
**  Colonel  Walter  Egremont,  late  Royal  En- 
gineers !  "  He  turned,  half  faint,  to  the  droop- 
ing figure  on  the  seat.  **  Mother,  mother,"  he 
cried,  "  what  does  it  mean  ?  Who  is  this  man  ? 
How  dare  he  use  my  father's  name — my 
father's  ? " 

Mrs.  Egremont  bowed  her  head  in  a  fierce 
burst  of  remorse.     "  I  did  it  for  your  sake," 


132  A  Splendid  Sin. 

she  answered,  cowering.  **  Oh,  Hubert,  don't 
hate  me  for  it.  What  he  says  is  true,  my  boy. 
I  married  thRi  creature  !     He  is  my  husband  !  " 

Hubert  drew  back,  appalled.  One  hand 
w?is  on  his  forehead.  He  scanned  the  man 
over  from  head  to  foot,  disdainfully.  Colonel 
Egremont  tried  to  stand  before  his  gaze  with- 
out reeling.  "  Yotir  husband  !  "  Hubert 
echoed.  ''My  father!  That  thing!  That 
creature  !  Oh,  mother,  can  you  mean  it? 
Don't  say  so,  dear  mother !  " 

The  quaver  in  his  voice  was  concentrated 
agony.  Mrs.  Egremont  dared  not  raise  her 
eyes  to  meet  her  son's.  She  only  murmured 
again,  *'  For  your  own  sake,  my  boy,  I  tried 
to  hide  it  from  you.  I  paid  him  to  keep  away. 
I  have  paid  him  for  years.  You  know  why 
now.  What  he  says  is  true.  This  man  is 
iny  husband." 

'*  And ^'o/fr  father,"  Colonel  Egremont  added, 
with  malicious  satisfaction. 

**  But  he  died — he  died  twenty  years  ago  !  " 
Hubert  broke  out  wildly,  unable  to  believe  the 
hideous  truth,  now  he  heard  it. 

*'  So  she  told  you,"  the  Colonel  answered, 
with  a  smile  of  triumph.  "So  she  told  you, 
no  doubt.  But " — he  dug  his  ow^n  ribs  de- 
monstratively with  his  thumbs — "  I  venture  to 
say,  she  was  quite  mistaken.  I'm  alive  and 
kicking.  I  can  kick  hard  still,  thank  heaven. 
Oh,  she  poses,  of  course,  as  a  model  mother. 


The  Colonel  Scores.  133 

But  she's  brought  you  up,  my  boy,  on  a  pack  of 
lies.  Come  to  your  father's  bosom,  my  long- 
lost  son  ! "  He  stretched  out  his  arms  melo- 
dramatically—then reeled  again,  and  caught 
hold  of  the  rustic  seat  with  one  hand  to  balance 
himself.  *'  We  have  been  too  long  apart  !  " 
he  went  on.  ''  This  woman,  this  wretched 
woman,  has  separated  us  !" 

''Sir!"  Hubert  cried,  springing  forward 
and  raising  one  fist  instinctively. 

The  Colonel  retreated  a  step,  and  buttoned 
up  his  coat  with  significant  symbolism.  *'  Oh, 
very  well,"  he  said,  "  if  you  renounce  your  owmi 
flesh  and  blood,  of  course  I've  nothing  more 
to  say  against  it.  Rut  you'll  have  to  put  up 
with  me  when  I  return  to  Milworth." 

Till  that  moment  Fede  had  stood  back,  un- 
perceived,  among  the  rhododendrons.  But 
as  Hubert  advanced  with  one  fist  raised  to 
strike  the  wretched  creature,  she  rushed  for- 
w^ard  to  stop  him.  "Oh,  don't  !"  she  cried, 
seizing  his  arm  ;  "  oh,  don't  !  Who  is  this 
man,  dear  Hubert  ?" 

Hubert  fell  back  on  the  seat,  crouching. 
The  full  terror  and  horror  of  it  came  home 
to  him  at  that  moment.  "This  man?"  he 
repeated,  only  realizing  it  by  degrees.  "This 
man  !  Who  is  this  man  ?  Fede,  Fede,  my 
darling,  go  away,  I  implore  of  you !  I  can 
never  be  yours  now.  It's  too  hateful  to  face  ! 
Who  is  this  man  ?     My  father  I    My  father !  " 


134 


A  Splendid  Sin. 


Fede  drew  back,  incredulous.  "Your  father  1 
oh,  no  !  "  she  cried,  "  he  can't  be  your  father  ! 
Hubert,  Hubert,  my  darling,  I  don't  believe 
it — I  won't  believe  it  ! " 

She  flung  herself  upon  him,  embracing  him 
passionately.  Mrs.  Egremont,  with  her  face  in 
her  hands,  sat  inconsolable  by  his  side.  Hubert 
bowed  himself  down  in  his  abject  wretched- 
ness. The  Colonel  alone,  bolt  upright,  with 
arms  crossed  and  a  smile  of  victory,  surveyed 
the  whole  group  in  an  e  stasy  of  triumph. 

"  It  is  this  that  you  have  brought  about  with 
your  regime  of  lies  !  "  he  said,  slowly  and  bit- 
terly. "  You  have  taught  your  son  to  hate  and 
despise  his  own  father !  " 


Reaction.  135 


CHAPTER  X. 

REACTION. 

Hubert  sat  there  immovable.  It  takes 
some  minutes  for  revulsions  of  feeling  like  his 
to  rise  fully  into  consciousness.  He  sat  there 
long,  bowed  down  with  utter  shame,  unable 
to  look  upon  Fede's  face,  holding  her  hand  in 
his,  and  endeavoring  to  realize  this  incredible 
catastrophe.  Slowly  the  truth  shaped  itself  at 
last  in  his  mind.  He  began  to  understand  it. 
His  mother  had  married  this  hateful  wretch — 
married  him  Jiozv  he  could  not  imagine  ;  and 
then,  finding  his  company  and  his  vices  insup- 
portable, had  broken  away  from  him,  given 
him  an  ample  yearly  allowance.  But  all  these 
years  she  had  hid  the  truth  from  her  son,  pre- 
tending her  husband  was  dead  ;  and  now  that 
Hubert  saw  the  man  as  he  actually  was,  he 
could  not  wonder  at  it. 

His  son  !  That  man's  son  !  As  the  ghastly 
blind  terror  of  it  came  home  to  him  bit  by  bit, 
he  rose  up  at  last  in  his  shame,  w'ithdrew  his 
hand  abruptly  from  Fede's,  and  rushed  off  in 
a  wild  burst  of  feeling  to  his  own  bedroom. 


136  A  Splendid  Sin. 

Mrs.  Egremont,  for  her  part,  did  not  attempt 
to  follow  him.  She  sat  there  still,  alone  with 
her  remorse,  and  bowed  down  in  her  agony. 
Nor  did  Fede  seek  to  detain  him.  She  knew 
these  things  are  best  faced  in  solitude.  She 
took  her  future  mother-in-law's  hand  in  hers, 
and,  without  one  word,  stroked  and  smoothed 
it  tenderly.  As  for  the  Colonel,  having  de- 
livered his  bolt,  he  thought  it  best  to  beat 
a  strategic  retreat  for  the  moment.  A  little 
later,  when  tide  served,  he  could  arrange  at 
leisure  for  his  increased  allowance,  or,  its 
only  alternative,  his  return  to  Milworth. 

For  tw^enty  minutes  or  more  Hubert  lay  on 
his  bed,  tossed  this  way  and  that  in  a  whirl- 
wind of  emotion.  Yet  the  full  shame  and  awe 
of  the  revelation  broke  over  him  but  gradually. 
Not  for  several  minutes  did  it  dawn  upon  his 
soul  that  as  he  was  in  blood  and  bone  this 
man's  son,  he  w^as  also  the  inheritor  of  his 
transmitted  tendencies.  The  mere  disgrace  of 
calling  such  a  creature  his  father  w^as  more 
than  enough  in  itself  for  the  first  few  dark 
moments  ;  to  inherit  his  taints,  his  vices,  his 
diseases  was  more  than  he  could  take  in  with- 
out long  reflection.  And  he  had  dreamt  an 
hour  ago  of  marrying  Fede — he,  that  loathsome 
thing's  son  !  It  was  past  all  thinking.  He  had 
but  one  consolation  in  this  hour  of  gloom — 
that  the  truth  had  come  out  in  time  to  save 
him  from  such  ineffable  sacrilege. 


Reaction.  137 

At  the  end  of  twenty  minutes  he  could  stand 
it  no  longer.  Active  natures  need  the  outlet 
of  activity  at  moments  of  profound  and  devour- 
ing emotion.  Some  inner  spur  goads  them 
on  to  movement  ;  they  must  walk  it  ofi,  walk 
it  off,  walk  it  off  forever.  Hubert  rose  from 
his  bed  and  broke  out  into  the  open  air.  He 
must  move,  move,  move,  up  the  sides  of  the 
mountain. 

He  stole  out  by  the  back  way,  under  the 
trellis  of  dead  roses,  to  avoid  meeting  either 
his  mother  or  Fede.  Then  he  turned  along 
the  track  which  led  to  the  Rothenspitze.  He 
had  ascended  it  yesterday  by  the  easiest  path, 
on  the  opposite  side,  w'th  the  aid  of  a  guide. 
To-day  he  w^ould  ascend  alone  by  the  abrupter 
face  that  turned  towards  the  village.  Good 
Alpine  climbers  held  the  mountain  unap- 
proachable by  the  slope  ;  but  what  of  that  ? 
It  mattered  little  now  whether  he  lived  or  died. 
If  he  fell  and  broke  his  neck,  so  much  the 
better.  That  would  be  the  easiest  way  out  of 
an  intolerable  situation.  In  any  case  he  must 
climb,  he  must  climb,  he  must  climb.  Any- 
thing to  get  rid  of  this  gnawing  energy. 

He  set  himself  to  work  to  scale  it  fiercely. 
As  he  rose  on  the  first  slopes,  between  grassy 
terraces,  he  could  see  his  uncle  and  the  Mar- 
chese  walking  along  the  dusty  white  road  be- 
low, and  entering  the  telegraph  office.  A 
hateful   thrill   ran   through   him.      He   knew 


138  A  Splendid  Sin. 

what  they  were  doing.  They  had  settled  pre- 
liminaries, and  the  Marchese  was  telegraph- 
ing the  news  to  Florence.  News  of  the  mar- 
riage that  could  never  take  place  !  Marriage  ? 
Was  he  fit  to  marry  the  vilest  creature  in  the 
streets  ?  He,  the  drunkard's  son,  how  could 
he  ever  have  dreamed  of  that  spotless  Fede } 

He  could  see  her  even  now  on  the  lawn  of 
the  hotel,  by  his  mother's  side,  holding  her 
hand  and  smoothing  it  with  daughterlike 
devotion. 

His  mother  !  If  he  were  his  mother's  son 
alone — as  he  had  been  till  that  day — how  differ- 
ent it  would  all  have  been  !  He  had  known 
and  loved  andrespected  his  mother  from  child- 
hood upward.  He  had  been  proud  to  be  her 
son,  to  feel  he  inherited  her  pure  and  unselfish 
moral  nature.  And  now,  this  man  !  this  un- 
speakable interloper  !  How  could  she  ever 
have  married  him  !  How  could  she  ever  have 
consented  to  bring  a  child  into  the  w^orld  who 
should  share  in  such  a  creature's  loathsome 
characteristics  ? 

*'If  the  man  has  a  son,"  he  had  said  only 
twelve  hours  before  to  the  concierge,  *'  that 
son  is  doomed  to  insanity  before  thirty." 

Insanity !  Was  that  all  ?  Vice,  crime, 
drunkenness,  brutality,  paralysis.  He  might, 
perhaps,  avoid  by  stern  self-repression  the 
drinking  instinct  itself,  which  wrought  the 
curse  ;  but  how  could  he  avoid  the  physical 


Reaction.  139 

and  mental  taints,  the  hereditary  tendencies  of 
Colonel  Egremont's  moral  or  immoral  nature  ? 
To  some  men  the  plea  of  heredity  is  a  con- 
venient excuse.  Hubert  saw  far  too  deep  into 
Nature  for  that  fallacy.  It  was  the  opposite 
idea  which  troubled  him  most.  **  I  am  what  I 
hate.  I  am,  potentially,  all  that  in  my  father 
revolts  and  disgusts  me." 

He  climbed  on  and  on  with  restless  energy, 
up  straight  walls  of  rock,  where  his  foot  hardly 
found  a  hold  in  slight  cracks  and  crannies. 
He  caught  at  sprigs  of  bushes  growing  out  of 
tiny  clefts,  and  helped  himself  up  by  their 
slender  twigs,  in  the  wild  hope  that  they  might 
give  way  and  let  him  dash  himself  to  pieces 
against  the  rocks  at  the  bottom.  But  they 
held,  by  a  miracle.  He  never  thought  of  how 
he  climbed  :  his  mind  was  seething  now  with 
so  many  fierce  and  conflicting  ideas.  He  could 
not  possibly  have  scaled  that  rearing  wall  of 
rock,  alone  and  unaided,  if  he  had  attacked  it 
consciously  ;  but  the  unconscious  clambering 
instinct  of  the  boy  and  the  monkey  came  out  in 
him  now  that  he  was  blind  to  danger.  He 
climbed  and  climbed,  scarcely  knowing  what 
he  did.  He  could  hardly  have  pointed  out 
his  own  track  again  to  any  other  athlete  ;  and 
if  he  could  have  pointed  it  out,  nobody  would 
have  believed  him. 

But  all  the  time  as  he  climbed  one  terrible 
sentence  rang  ever  in  his  ear,  "Who  visiteth  the 


140  A  Splendid  Sin. 

sins  of  the  fathers  on  the  children  unto  the 
third  and  fourth  generation."  Who  visiteth 
the  sins  of  the  father  on  the  children  !  The 
father  on  the  children  !  the  father  on  the  chil- 
dren !  He  climbed  to  its  tune.  It  haunted 
and  followed  him. 

Insanity  !  Was  he  mad  to  try  such  a  wild 
climb  ?  Insanity  !  Was  it  some  crazy  impulse 
that  drove  him  forth  to-day,  when  he  ought 
rather  to  have  stopped  to  comfort  and  succor 
his  mother  ?  What  was  that  man  doing  now 
— that  man — his  father  ?  Then  the  terror  grew 
deeper  on  him.  Was  it  the  inherited  selfish- 
ness of  the  brute's  brutal  nature  that  had  sent 
Hubert  himself  out  to  climb,  climb,  climb, 
instead  of  staying  to  protect  his  worse  than 
widowed  mother  from  the  creature's  outrages  ? 
And  Fede — dear  Fede— for  whom  he  would 
give  his  life,  was  he  right  to  leave  her  so  ? 
Ought  he  not  to  have  tried  to  make  the  burden 
lighter  for  her  ?  Yet — surely  no!  He  must 
never  again  see  her.  To  see  Fede  and  bid 
her  good-by  was  only  unnecessarily  to  harrow 
her  feelings.  He  could  not  face  it.  But  was 
that,  too,  selfishness  ?  How  could  he  escape 
his  own  inherited  character  ?  How  think  him- 
self outside  his  father's  traits  in  him  ?  What- 
ever way  he  turned,  he  ran  his  head  once  more 
against  the  great  blank  wall  of  his  ancestral 
temperament. 

Climbing,  ever  climbing,  hour  after  weary 


Reaction.  141 

hour,  driven  by  such  torturing  thoughts,  and 
biting  his  own  arm  now  and  again  for  reUef, 
he  gained  the  summit.  But  it  took  him  all 
day,  for  the  northern  face  was  steeper  by  far 
than  the  usual  path,  and  he  clambered  up  by 
himself  with  numerous  delays  and  endless 
difficulties.  On  the  top,  once  gained,  he  rested, 
weary.  He  could  not  scramble  down  again 
without  some  hours  of  repose.  He  had  no 
food  or  covering,  and  the  wind  was  chilly  ;  still 
he  must  stop  where  he  was  till  his  limbs  had  re- 
covered from  their  fatigue  and  stiffness.  He 
was  bruised  and  torn,  and  he  was  glad  of  his 
hurts  :  the  physical  pain  seemed  to  relieve  the 
mental.  It  acted  as  a  counter-irritant.  By  this 
time  he  had  fully  walked  off  his  first  restless 
mood,  which  began  to  be  succeeded  by  a  ter- 
rible depression.  Evening  came  on.  The  peaks 
grew  dark.  The  white  blossoms  shone  with  a 
strange  internal  light,  as  if  they  were  self-lu- 
minous. He  lay  down  on  a  bed  of  flowering 
daphne  and  saxifrage— close  Alpine  plants, swept 
short  by  the  wind,  which  made  a  sort  of  spring 
cushion  for  his  head  and  limbs — and  looked  up 
at  the  sky  in  listless  indifference.  His  brain 
w^as  all  a  blur,  his  eyes  ached  wearily.  Still,  he 
did  not  sleep,  but  mused  to  himself,  in  a  deadly 
monotone,  "  Who  visiteth  the  sins  of  the  fathers 
on  the  children  unto  the  third  and  fourth  gen- 
eration." At  moments  of  emotion,  the  Bible 
words  of  our  childhood  recur  to  us.     They 


142  A  Splendid  Sin. 

come  with  the  sanctity,  the  solemnity,  the 
power  of  ancestral  echoes. 

The  night  was  cold,  and  he  was  only  a  few 
hundred  yards  below  snow-level.  Now  and 
then,  to  warm  himself,  he  rose  and  walked 
about  restlessly  on  the  little  rocky  platform  that 
formed  the  summit.  As  he  did  so,  he  kept 
stumbling  over  loops  of  root  and  gnarled  stocks 
of  low  bushes.  His  heel  struck  against  stones : 
he  almost  fell.  Did  he  lift  his  feet  as  high  as 
usual,  he  wondered  ?  At  the  thought  a  chilly 
shudder  came  over  him  all  at  once.  That 
shuffling  gait — that  indecision  of  step — was 
it  not  one  of  the  premonitory  symptoms  of 
locomotor  ataxy  ? 

Not  for  himself  he  cared,  but  for  his  mother's 
sake — and  Fede's.  How  could  he  dream,  such 
as  he  was,  of  ever  marrying  Fede  ? 

The  night  wore  away  slowly.  He  lay  down 
again  and  watched  it.  Cold  dews  fell  upon 
him.  The  stars  came  out,  one  by  one,  moved 
slowly  across  the  zenith,  and  westered  by  de- 
grees till  they  set  behind  the  rearing  w^hite 
mass  of  the  Himmelberg.  He  could  see  its 
whiteness  now  by  their  rays  quite  easily. 
Strange,  how  at  moments  of  overpowering 
emotion,  other  thoughts  will  yet  obtrude  them- 
selves now  and  then  in  shot  threads  across  the 
woof  of  consciousness  !  As  he  lay  there  and 
watched  those  silent  constellations  crawl  with 
stealthy  pace  in  measured  spaces  athwart  the 


Reaction.  143 

face  of  heaven,  he  reahzed,  as  he  had  never 
realized  before,  why  astronomy  was  the  earliest 
of  all  the  sciences  to  force  itself  upon  the  mind 
of  primitive  man — the  sleeper  under  the  open, 
the  watcher  of  the  sky  through  roofless  nights 
of  summer  and  winter.  When  the  early  hunter 
lay  awake,  even  so,  and  tossed  on  his  uneasy 
couch,  and  counted  the  groups  that  followed 
one  another  with  even,  unhurryingtramp  across 
the  sphere  overhead,  how"  could  he  fail  to  note 
the  slow  sequence  of  their  movements,  the  in- 
variable order  of  their  secular  rising  and  set- 
ting ?  Hubert  absolutely  envied  those  ignorant 
savages.  If  only  he  could  have  thrown  himself 
back  into  their  place  and  forgotten  these  terrible 
lessons  of  modern  physiology  !  But  no — the 
doom  w^as  pronounced  against  him— pronounced 
by  those  immutable  laws  of  nature,  w'hich,  like 
the  God  of  the  Hebrews,  visit  the  sins  of  the 
fathers  upon  the  children  unto  the  third  and 
fourth  generation — though,  unlike  him,  they 
show  no  mercy  to  any,  whether  he  love  them 
or  have  them,  w^iether  he  keep  or  keep  not 
their  mute  commandments. 

Gradually,  morning  approached.  Hubert 
knew  from  the  stars  in  sight  that  dawn  could 
not  be  far  from  reddening  the  horizon.  By 
this  time  an  alternative  feeling  possessed  him  ; 
he  w^as  painfully  conscious  now  into  what  an 
agony  of  terror  he  must  have  cast  his  mother. 
His  thoughts  rambled  in  a  haze.     He  rose  once 


144 


A  Splendid  Sin. 


more,  and  by  the  uncertain  light  began  to  grope 
and  feel  his  way  down  the  treacherous  moun- 
tain. One  false  step  would  solve  the  insoluble 
problem.  Now  was  the  chance  to  slip  ;  now 
was  the  time  for  an  unintentional  and  half-un- 
willing suicide— for  he  was  not  quite  at  the 
point  where  he  would  knowingly  and  intention- 
ally have  flung  himself  down  on  the  rocks  be- 
low. From  that  last  resource  of  hunted  lives 
he  shrank  even  then  wdth  real  moral  repug- 
nance. But  if  only  he  could  miss  his  foothold 
and  fall  against  his  will — how  easy  an  outlet 
such  an  accident  would  afford  him  from  an 
insupportable  dilemma  ! 

Dawn  primrosed  the  sky.  Once  more  the 
white  flowers  on  the  slopes  glowed  as  if  self- 
luminous.  He  clambered  recklessly  dow^n, 
clinging  to  twigs  and  ledges  that  seemed  all  but 
hopeless.  Yet  he  never  missed  his  foothold. 
Perhaps  the  very  absence  of  fear  and  of  the 
sense  of  danger  which  his  weariness  of  life  and 
longing  for  death  gave  him  may  have  acted  as 
a  preservative.  If  he  had  clutched  at  those 
slender  supports  in  any  terrified  or  half-hearted 
fashion  they  might  have  yielded  and  let  him 
go  :  but  the  recklessness  itself  with  wiiich  he 
trusted  to  their  flimsy  aid  made  them  adequate 
for  his  purpose.  He  swung  from  them  as  lightly, 
as  surely,  and  as  easily  as  a  squirrel  or  a  mon- 
key. He  had  recurred  to  the  level  of  the  boy 
or  the  savage,  who  risks  a  life  which  he  values 


Reaction.  145 

little.  Day  broke  as  he  descended  the  steep 
face  of  rock  ;  at  the  base  of  the  first  great 
pinnacle  he  could  already  see  his  track  with 
perfect  distinctness. 

Thenceforth  his  way  w^as  easy.  He  shuffled 
and  stumbled  down  much  more  quicklv  and 
surely  than  he  had  mounted.  It  was  about 
nine  o'clock  by  the  village  church  when  he 
found  himself  once  more  in  the  one  long  gleam- 
ing street  of  Rothenthal. 

And  he  was  not  dead.  And  he  had  cleared 
up  nothing.  The  situation  remained  exactly 
where  it  was  before  he  started,  except  that  he 
had  no  doubt  succeeded  in  casting  his  mother 
and  Fede  into  transports  of  fear  for  his  im- 
mediate safety.     Selfish,  selfish,  selfish  !     No 

doubt,  a  son  of  that  unwelcome  father ! 
10 


146  A  Splendid  Sin. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  ENGLISH  FOR  FEDE. 

In  Mrs.  Egremont's  salon,  about  nine  o'clock, 
Cecco,  the  Marchese's  valet,  peeped  in  at  the 
door,  where  Rosa  was  engaged  in  dusting  the 
furniture. 

"  Good  morning,  signorina,"  he  said  in 
Italian,  just  poking  his  head  somewhat  tenta- 
tively round  the  corner. 

*'  Good  morning,"  Rosa  repeated  in  her  own 
Teutonic  variety  of  the  Tuscan  dialect.  She 
was  a  cosmopolitanized  Bernese,  and  spoke 
most  European  languages  in  a  more  or  less 
broken  fashion. 

*'  The  young  signore  not  yet  come  back  ? " 
Cecco  inquired  with  curiosity. 

"  No,"  Rosa  answered,  playing  carelessly 
with  her  duster.  She  pretended  to  be  busy 
with  the  objects  on  the  mantelpiece.  "  He 
left  a  note  on  his  table  for  Number  Twenty, 
to  say  he  had  gone  up  for  a  climb  on  the 
Rothenspitze,  and  might  be  out  all  night.  But 
Number  Twenty  doesn't  like  it,  I'm  sure  of 
that  :  she's  been  crymg  all  night,  I  think  :  her 
eyes  are  red  and  swollen  this  morning." 


The  English  for  Fede.  147 

"  Something's  gone  wrong,''  Cecco  mur- 
mured, venturing  in  a  step  or  two. 

**  This  is  Number  Twenty's  salon,''  Rosa 
observed  in  her  coquettish  way,  looking  round 
at  him  with  a  warning  glance.  **  She'll  be  out 
here  presently." 

"  No,  she  won't,"  Cecco  answered,  taking 
another  step  in.  *'  She's  gone  out  on  the 
terrace,  looking  for  Twxnty-Four.  There's 
something  wrong  somewhere,  as  you  say, 
signorina.  Our  young  lady  has  been  crying, 
too,  ever  since  yesterday  morning." 

**  It's  odd,"  Rosa  continued,  pausing  awhile 
and  fronting  him.  "  I  think  the  horrid  old 
man  in  Seventy-Two  must  have  something  to 
do  with  it." 

Cecco  dropped  his  voice  to  a  confidential 
whisper.  *'  You  know  why  we've  come  here  ? " 
he  said.  "  There's  a  marriage  to  be  arranged 
between  our  young  lady,  the  Marchesa  Fede, 
and " 

*'  And  Number  Twenty-Four  ;  well,  I  knew 
that  already,  silly,"  Rosa  answered,  brusquely. 

"  Who  told  you  ? "  Cecco  inquired,  drawing 
yet  a  step  nearer  to  her. 

Rosa  flicked  her  duster.  "  Who  told  me  ?  " 
she  answered.  "  Well,  I  call  that  a  good  one  ! 
Do  you  think  I've  been  eight  years  7\  chamber- 
maid, and  must  wait  to  know  things  till  people 
tell  me  ? " 

**  But  yesterday  morning,"  Cecco  went  on, 


148  A  Splendid  Sin. 

*'  Number  Twenty- Four  and  Number  Seventy- 
Two  had  a  talk  together,  and  ever  since  then 
there's  been  nothing  but  misfortunes.  The 
young  signore  has  gone  off  up  the  Rothen- 
spitze  ;  our  Marchesa's  in  tears,  the  picture  of 
misery  ;  the  signore's  mother  is  crying  her 
eyes  out  ;  and  my  Marchese's  walking  up  and 
down  in  his  room,  swearing  at  me  all  the  time 
as  if  it  were  an  earthquake  in  Florence  !  " 

**  Hateful  old  man  !  "  Rosa  cried.  "  I  mean 
Seventy-Two.  I  should  just  like  to  know 
what  he  has  to  do  with  them.  It's  he  who 
has  come  and  made  all  the  bother." 

"  Perhaps  he's  Twenty's  husband,"  the  valet 
suggested,  with  a  gleam  of  white  teeth. 

*'  Oh,  no,  he's  not,"  Rosa  answered,  still 
dusting  coquettishly  at  the  vases  on  the  man- 
telpiece, "  for  I  heard  madame  say  something 
to  Twenty- Four — that's  her  son — about  his 
father  having  died  at  least  twenty  years  ago." 

*'  But  she  may  have  married  again,  stupid  !  " 
Cecco  retorted. 

"  Stupid  yourself !  If  she  had,  how  could 
she  and  her  son  be  both  called  the  same  name  ? 
They're  all  of  them  Egremontes."  She  pro- 
nounced the  word  as  four  syllables,  Italian 
fashion. 

"  That's  true,"  Cecco  answered,  pondering. 
*'  Then  perhaps  he's  her  lover." 

Rosa  pouted  her  lips.  "You  don't  under- 
stand the  Inglese,"   she  answered,  candidly. 


The  English  for  Fede.  149 

"  That's  ItaHan  manners.     The  EngHsh  ladies 
never  have  lovers,  signore." 

Cecco  nodded  his  head.  "  True  ! "  he 
assented,  after  a  pause.  "  I  quite  forgot  that. 
Droll  manners,  those  English  !  One  wonders 
what  they  live  for.  You  seem  very  much  in- 
terested in  the  family,  signorina." 

Rosa  tossed  her  pretty  head.  **  Nobody  else 
in  the  hotel  !  "  she  answered.  "One  must  in- 
terest oneself  in  something.  Besides,  I  rather 
want  Twenty  to  take  me  with  her  as  lady's- 
maid  to  England." 

"To  England  !  Ah,  well,  perhaps  then  w^e 
may  meet  there,  for  my  Marchese  is  sure  to 
carry  me  with  him  to  England  for  the  wed- 
ding." 

"  But  the  w^edding  will  be  in  Florence,  won't 
it  ?  at  Santa  Croce  or  Santa  Maria  ? "  the  cham- 
bermaid suggested. 

"  Trust  my  Marchese  for  that !  "  Cecco  cried. 
"He's  a  man  of  business,  my  Marchese,  and 
*  in  the  present  depressed  condition  of  the 
w4ne-market '  "—he  imitated  his  master's  most 
pompous  manner—"  ten  lire  to  a  soldo  he'll 
put  the  expense  of  his  daughter's  marriage  on 
Number  Twenty's  shoulders." 

Rosa  was  dusting  a  photograph  on  the  man- 
telpiece as  he  spoke.  It  w^as  the  portrait  of  a 
tall  and  handsome  man,  close-shaven  and  clear- 
featured  and  very  distinguished-looking.  It 
stood  in  a  silver  frame.     "  I  think  this  must  be 


i5o  A  Splendid  Sin. 

Number  Twenty's  gentleman,"  she  said,  after 
a  pause.  "  She  keeps  it  here  always  in  the 
middle  of  the  shelf,  and  she  often  looks  at  it. 
It  is  no  doubt  the  signore  her  husband." 

"Oh,  no,"  Cecco  put  in.  "That  man's 
name's  not  Egremonte.  I  know  him  well. 
He  w^as  a  friend  of  my  Marchese's.  That's  the 
great  American  poet  who  died  at  Florerce 
when  I  was  lift  at  the  Minerva.  He  used  often 
to  drop  in  for  our  table  dliote.  I  remember 
him  well.  He  was  a  very  great  man.  He 
gave  me  five  lire  once  for  posting  a  letter  for 
him." 

"He's  handsome,"  Rosa  said,  scrutinizing  it. 
"  So  he  was  a  poet,  was  he  ?  The  signora  has 
his  photograph  in  her  bedroom  as  well,  with 
some  verses  on  the  back  of  it.  Perhaps  he 
wrote  them.  But  the  verses  are  in  English— 
or  perhaps  in  American— so  I  cannot  read 
them." 

"  Well,  you  see,  he  was  a  distinguished 
man,"  Cecco  replied,  full  of  importance.  "  Oh, 
distinguished — but  distinguished  !  His  friends 
were  proud  of  him.  A  poet's  a  poet.  When 
the  King  of  Italy— the  Re  Galantuomo,  I  mean, 
Vittorio  Emmanuele,  not  this  man  Umberto 
— when  the  King  came  to  Florence,  the  poet 
was  always  asked  to  dine  at  the  Pitti  Palace : 
and  when  he  died,  the  American  ambassador 
came  on  purpose  from  Rome  to  attend  the 
funeral.     So  I  ask  you,  was  he  distinguished  ? 


The  English  for  Fede.  151 

He  must  of  course  have  been  a  very  clever 
poet.  Such  brains  those  men  have  !  It  makes 
one  dizzy  to  think  of  it." 

"  Take  care,"  Rosa  said  ;  "  I  hear  the  signora 
coming." 

Cecco  retreated  with  dignity  from  the  room 
One  moment  later  Mrs.  Egremont  and  Hubert 
entered  it. 

"  You  can  go,  Rosa,"  Mrs.  Egremont  said 
pale  and  white,  but  still  with  the  external  calm 
of  an  English  lady. 

"Yes,  madame  ;  at  your  service,  madame," 
Rosa  answered,  in  her  official  voice,  and  beat 
a  retreat,  curtseying. 

^^  "  Mother,"  Hubert   cried,  taking  her  hand, 
I— I  have  caused  you  so  much  trouble.     Can 
you  ever  forgive  me  for  it  ? " 

Mrs.  Egremont  sank  into  a  chair.  '*  I  knew 
you  would  come  back,  my  boy,"  she  said,  with 
aquivermg  lip,  *' unless  you  slipped  by  ac- 
cident. I  knew  you  would  not— intentionally 
—kill  yourself." 

"  You  knew  that,  mother  ?  " 

Mrs.  Egremont  hesitated.  ''  Yes,  I  knew  it 
my   boy— but "  ' 

"  But  what  ?  " 

She  faltered.  ''  I  thought,"  she  said,  after  a 
pause,  you  might  try-half  unawares-to  let 
your  foot  slip  on  some  damp  piece  of  rock,  and 
be  dashed  to  pieces." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  Hubert 


152  A  Splendid  Sin. 

answered,  "  It  would  have  been  better  so, 
mother." 

Mrs.  Egremont  flung  her  arms  round  him. 
"No,  no,  my  darling,"  she  murmured.  **  For 
my  sake,  no— for  my  sake— and  for  Fede's." 

*'  Where  is  she  ? "  Hubert  asked,  trembling. 

'*  In  her  room." 

"  Was  she  very  much  frightened  ? " 

"  No.  She  has  confidence  in  you.  She 
knows  in  her  heart  you  could  never  desert  her." 

Hubert  paused  again.  *'  Oh,  mother  !  "  he 
cried  at  last,  "  I  will  not  reproach  you.  Who 
am  I  to  reproach  you— I,  that  creature's  son  ! 
But  why,  oh  why  did  you  keep  it  from  me 
always  ? " 

Mrs.  Egremont's  bosom  heaved.  "  I  thought 
it  was  for  the  best,"  she  answered,  faltering. 

*'The  truth  is  best,"  Hubert  retorted.  "I 
would  always  know  it." 

"  The  truth  is  best  ? "  Mrs.  Egremont  echoed, 
with  a  faint  tremor  of  the  lips.  "  Oh,  Hubert, 
do  you  think  so  ? " 

There  was  agony  in  her  voice — doubt,  terror, 
longing. 

"  It  was  kind  of  you  to  try,  I  know,"  Hubert 
went  on,  not  perceiving  it.  **  I  see  you  wanted 
to  shield  me— oh,  my  God,  from  what?  I 
can't  bear  to  think  of  it.  From  what  I  am  in 
myself !  From  knowing  the  truth  about  my 
own  inmost  nature  !  " 

Mrs.   Egremont  leant  forward.      "  Hubert, 


The  English  for  Fede.  153 

my  darhng,"  she  broke  out,  "for  years  I  have 
borne  this  trouble  in  silence  for  your  sake — 
and  every  other  trouble.  I  have  done  all  I 
could  to  hide  it  from  you,  till  the  world  itself 
had  almost  forgotten  his  very  existence." 

Hubert  rocked  himself  to  and  fro.  "  But 
oh,  the  terrible  awakening,"  he  cried,  "  from 
the  ideal  I  had  formed  in  my  heart  of  my  lost, 
dead  father  !  No,  /  did  not  form  it ;  you  gave 
it  to  me,  mother."  And  he  swayed  himself 
moodily. 

Mrs.  Egremont's  lips  trembled  as  if  she  must 
answer  something  ;  but  with  an  effort  she  sup- 
pressed it.  ''  Oh,  is  the  truth  really  best  ?  " 
she  cried  at  last.  ''  I  wonder,  I  wonder.  Is 
the  truth  really  best  ?     Hubert,  I  dare  not." 

Hubert  gazed  at  her  again.  "  You,  my 
mother  ! "  he  cried.  "  How  could  you  ever  bring 
yourself  to  marry  such  a  man  ?  How  could 
you  so  far  dishonor  your  own  fine  nature  ? 
How  could  you  consent  to  spend  one  day  of 
your  life  with  him  ? " 

Mrs.  Egremont  bowed  her  head.  "  Hubert," 
she  cried,  *'  don't  recall  to  me  my  shame  ! 
Don't  remind  me  once  more  of  it !  Don't  re- 
proach me,  my  boy  !  You  will  crush  me  if  you 
speak  of  it." 

"  Reproach  you  !  "  Hubert  answered,  with 
bitterness.  **  If  I  reproach  you,  I  reproach 
myself— I  reproach  that  man  whom  I  know  to 
be  my  father." 


i54  A  Splendid  Sin. 

Mrs.  Egremont  wrung  her  hands.  "  Con- 
sider how  young  I  was,"  she  went  on,  in  an 
evasive  voice.  *'  Only  seventeen  when  I 
married  !  My  mother  was  determined  to  get 
me  off  her  hands  to  somebody  ;  and  Colonel 
Egremont,  who  was  a  friend  of  hers,  happened 
to  be  the  first  man  to  make  me  an  offer.  Ask 
Emilius  about  it  all :  he  will  tell  you  how  it 
was.  I  was  delivered  over,  an  innocent  giil, 
bound  hand  and  foot,  to  that  wretched 
creature." 

*'  Mother,  mother,  if  it  were  /,  I  would  have 
cut  my  right  hand  off  first !  " 

Mrs.  Egremont  paused.  "  But  you  never 
knew  my  mother,  Hubert,"  she  answered 
slowly.  **  She  was  a  terrible  woman,  my 
mother.  Hot  and  cold  by  turns — passionate 
and  cruel.  Everybody  who  came  near  her 
did  as  she  told  them.  She  ordered  me  to 
marry  Colonel  F  "emont,  and  I  obeyed  her 
as  implicitly  as  1  would  have  obeyed  her  if 
she  had  ordered  me  to  shut  the  nursery  door. 
I  was  hardly  out  of  the  nursery,  indeed,  when 
she  married  me  off  to  him.  I'll  tell  you  how 
it  happened.  I  had  been  at  school— here  in 
Switzerland— so  happy,  so  happy.  I  came  back 
when  I  was  seventeen,  not  having  seen  my 
mother's  face  for  three  whole  years  ;  and,  full 
of  delight  at  finding  myself  at  home  again,  I 
rushed  into  her  drawing-room  in  Hans  Place, 
and  flung  my  arms  round  her,  crying  aloud, 


The  English  for  Fede.  155 

*  Mother  !  '  She  was  sitting  there,  as  it 
happened,  with  one  of  her  admirers,  a  cabinet 
minister  ;  she  moved  in  that  society,  and  was 
a  very  great  lady  :  and  she  didn't  like  the  in- 
terruption— for  she  was  a  handsome  woman 
still,  and  couldn't  bear  to  have  a  grown-up 
daughter  in  the  house  with  her.  So  she  held 
me  off,  withour  kissing  me,  and  said,  in  a  freez- 
ing tone,  *  Your  complexion's  ruined  !  You're 
not  half  as  good-looking,  child,  as  you  were 
three  years  ago.  Go  up-stairs,  and  take  off 
your  hat,  and  wash  yourself  afteryour  journey — 
and  then,  perhaps,  you'll  be  in  a  fit  condition 
to  come  down  and  say  how-do-you-do  to  Lord 
Winstanley.'  I  slunk  off,  chilled.  That  same 
evening  she  said  to  me,  in  a  very  cold  voice, 
'  Julia,  I  must  marry  you.  It  shall  be  Colonel 
Egremont.'  I  didn't  like  him,  though  I  didn't 
know  him,  of  course,  as  I  know  him  now  ;  and 
I  said,  *  Oh,  mother  ! '  *  Go  to  your  room, 
miss,'  my  mother  said,  *  and  don't  dare  to 
answer  me  back.'  And  in  three  weeks*  time, 
whether  1  wished  it  or  not,  she  had  me  married 
to  Colonel  Egremont." 

Hubert  still  rocked  himself  up  and  down. 
*'  It  was  a  dishonor  to  yourself,"  he  said,  "  and 
a  wrong  to  me.  Epilepsy,  insanity,  drunken- 
ness, paralysis — how  could  you  burden  your 
son  w4th  such  legacies  as  those,  mother  ? " 

Mrs.  Egremont  trembled.  "  If  you  had 
known  my   mother,   you  w^ould   understand, 


156  A  Splendid  Sin. 

Hubert,"  she  answered  at  last,  with  an 
effort. 

"  And  even  if  you  once  married  him,"  Hubert 
went  on,  "  how  could  you  continue  to  live  with 
him  ?  And  how  could  you  bring  children  of 
your  own  into  the  w^orld  for  him— half  his, 
half  yours— hereditary  drunkards,  hereditary 
madmen  ? " 

Mrs.  Egremont  buried  her  face  in  her  hands 
and  burst  into  tears.  "  Hubert,  Hubert,"  she 
cried,  "  for  heaven's  sake,  spare  me  !  " 

Just  at  that  moment  there  came  a  knock  at 
the  door.  "May  I  come  in?"  Sir  Emilius 
asked,  half  opening  it. 

Mrs.  Egremont  raised  her  head.  "Yes,  come 
in,  dear,"  she  said  hurriedly.  She  w^as  glad 
of  the  interruption — glad  of  some  one  who 
would  help  her  to  bear  the  brunt  of  Hubert's 
unutterable  horror. 

"  My  boy,"  the  elder  man  said,  coming  for- 
ward and  taking  his  hand,  almost  as  if  he  had 
heard  what  they  had  both  been  saying— though 
in  truth  he  only  read  it  with  his  accustomed 
skill  in  their  faces — "don't  reproach  her  with 
it  ;  oh,  don't  !  Surely  she  has  suffered  more 
than  enough  alread3\" 

"  I  know  it,"  Hubert  cried,  seizing  her  hand 
and  smoothing  it.  "  Oh,  dear  mother,  I  know 
it."     Remorse  came  over  him. 

"  He  wasn't  so  bad  at  first  as  he  became 
later,"  Sir  Emilius  went  on,  in  a  softer  voice 


The  English  for  Fede.  157 

than  Hubert  could  have  conceived  of  his  using. 
''  She  left  him  as  soon  as  she  could— left  him 
by  my  advice  and  assistance.  He  did  things— 
fortunately— which  made  it  impossible  for  him 
to  show  his  face  in  England  again  ;  broke  the 
law,  and  rendered  himself  liable  to  serious 
punishment.  Your  mother  very  properly 
bought  him  off  on  an  agreement  never  to  come 
within  two  hundred  miles  of  her.  He  has 
skulked  for  years,  sometimes  under  his  own 
name,  sometimes  under  another,  up  and  down 
on  the  Continent." 

"But  he  went  too  late,"  Hubert  cried,  in 
his  misery.  "  And— Fede  and  I  must  suffer 
for  it." 

"  Not  necessarily,"  Sir  Emilius  put  in.  "You 
are  a  strong  and  well-built  fellow,  Hubert. 
It's  unusual,  I  admit,  for  such  a  man  to  be  the 
father  of  a  sound  child  ;  but  I've  never  seen 
one  trace  in  you,  at  least,  of  the  inherited 
temperament." 

Hubert  shook  his  head  once  more.  "  No, 
no,"  he  said  gloomily,  "it's  no  use  your  trying 
to  comfort  me,  uncle.  I  know  the  truth  too 
well.  That  man's  children  must  be  hopelessly 
mad  before  they're  thirty." 

"  I  dispute  your  prognosis,"  Sir  Emilius  an- 
swered. He  spoke  with  authority.  "These 
cases  are  so  elusive.  The  moral  qualities  lie 
on  the  surface  of  heredity.  There  isn't  a  sign 
in  yoii  of  alcoholic  tendency." 


158  A  Splendid  Sin.^ 

**  But  I  know  it  all  so  deeply,"  Hubert  cried, 
leaning  back,  "  as  well  as  any  doctor.  The 
symptoms  often  remain  latent  till  twenty-five 
or  thirty,  and  then  they  come  out  suddenly. 
His  children  couldn't  escape.  I  have  seen 
with  my  eyes.  He's  too  far  gone  in  alcoholic 
mania  to  doubt  it." 

"  Hubert,"  Sir  Emilius  said,  looking  hard  at 
him,  "  in  spite  of  all  you  say,  my  advice  to 
you  is  to  marry  Fede." 

Hubert  moaned  from  his  place.  "  How 
can  I  burden  Fede  w^ith  such  a  future  ? "  he 
cried  in  his  despair. 

Mrs.  Egremont  leant  forw^ard  with  a  sudden 
burst  of  speech.  *'  My  darling,"  she  cried, 
"  take  my  w^ord  for  it  still.  You  will  not  be- 
lieve it,  but  your  father  had  once  many  great 
and  noble  qualities." 

Her  brother  stared  at  her.  He  knew  that 
Julia  had  misled  her  son  on  this  point  for 
many  years  past,  but  he  w^as  hardly  prepared 
for  such  a  wildly  improbable  declaration  at 
such  a  moment. 

"  Then  again,  I  can  never  break  it  to  her," 
Hubert  went  on,  in  utter  dejection.  "  I  can 
never  make  her  feel  how  impossible  it  would 
be  for  me  to  dream  of  marrying  her  !  " 

Sir  Emilius  meanwhile  had  felt  his  nephew's 
pulse.  "  My  boy,"  he  said  suddenly,  *'  you 
are  sinking  from  inanition.  You  have  neither 
slept  nor  eaten.     This  mood,  I  see,  is  partly 


The  English  for  Fede.  159 

physical.  You  must  have  some  breakfast  at 
once."  He  took  a  fkisk  from  his  pocket  and 
poured  some  hquid  out  of  it  into  the  cup  at 
its  base.  "  Here,  drink  this,"  he  said,  hand- 
ing it  to  him  ;  "you  need  it  sorely." 

Hubert  glanced  at  it  for  a  second.  It  was 
brandy.  The  very  smell  of  the  vile  liquor 
gave  him  at  that  moment  a  revulsion  of  dis- 
gust. He  took  the  cup  in  his  hands,  and 
dashed  it,  brandy  and  all,  to  the  other  end  of 
the  room.  *'  Never  !  "  he  cried.  **  Never  ! 
It  is  that  hateful  stuff  that  has  brought  all  this 
upon  us  !  As  long  as  I  live,  not  one  drop  of 
it  shall  ever  pass  my  lips  again  !  "  He  flung 
down  the  flask.  '*  If  I  can't  escape  the  effects," 
he  said,  in  his  frenzy  of  despair,  "  at  least  I  can 
avoid  the  cause  of  all  this  misery." 

**  That's  your  son,  Julia,"  Sir  Emilius  mur- 
mured below  his  breath.  "  Not  a  trace  of 
Walter  Egremont  !  " 

Hubert  rose  and  wrung  his  hands.  "  Soph- 
istry!" he  answerd.  **  Sophistry  !  mere 
verbal  sophistry.  We  can't  escape  the  sins  of 
our  fathers  so  easily.  Every  man  inherits 
one-half  of  his  traits  from  either  parent  ;  from 
that  creature  I  inherit  inevitable  insanity." 

Ashe  spoke,  there  came  once  more  a  gentle 
tap  at  the  door.  "Can  I  come  in?"  a  low 
voice  asked  pleadingly. 

"  You  can,"  Sir  Emilius  answered,  moving 
across  to  the  door.      "  A   seasonable   tonic  ! 


i6o  A  Splendid  Sin. 

The  precise  treatment  I  was  just  about  to  pre- 
scribe for  him  ! " 

He  opened  the  door,  and  Fede  entered, 
very  pale,  and  with  eyes  red  from  crying. 
The  Marchese  would  have  considered  her 
presence  at  that  moment  a  most  imprudent 
proceeding. 

She  took  his  hand  frankly.  "  Dearest,"  she 
murmured,  leaning  forward  and  kissing  him, 
"  I  couldnt  stop  away.  I  was  obliged  to 
come.  I  have  thought  of  you  all  night  long. 
I  knew  how  you  must  feel  about  that — that 
dreadful  creature." 

Hubert  recoiled  from  her  kiss.  "  Oh,  don't, 
Fede,"  he  cried,  as  if  he  shrank  from  her 
purity.  "  I  feel  I  am  polluted — not  fit  for  such 
as  you.     You  must  never  again  kiss  me." 

She  drew  back,  astonished.  "  Why  not, 
my  darling  ? " 

"  Because  that  man's  my  father.  Because 
I  am  his  son.  Because  I  inherit  from  him  a 
deadly  taint.  Because  I  shall  most  likely  be 
mad  and  paralyzed  before  I'm  thirty." 

With  a  wild  burst  of  emotion,  Fede  flung 
her  arms  round  him.  **  Hubert  !  Hubert !  " 
she  cried,  '*  what  is  all  that  to  me,  dearest  ?  I 
am  a  woman — no  more.  I  love  you— I  love 
you  !  No  matter  ivhat  might  happen  to  you^ 
I  still  would  marry  you  !  " 

He  tried  1o  unwind  her  arms.  A  ghastly 
sense  of  his  own  inherited  impurity  came  over 


The  English  for  Fede.  i6i 

him.  "  Fede,"  he  cried,  *'  you  mustn't— not 
to  that  man's  son  !  What  you  say  is  quite 
right— quite  right  for  you,  dearest.  A  woman 
should  take  these  things  so ;  I  see  that  very 
well :  no  good  woman  could  take  them  other- 
wise. But  a  man  must  be  strong.  A  man 
must  fight  against  it.  A  man  must  guard  the 
woman  he  loves  against  herself  and  her 
womanly  instincts.  A  man  must  know  when 
and  how  to  deny  himself.  He  must  refuse  to 
marry  the  girl  of  his  choice— if  marriage  would 
mean  to  her  inevitable  misery." 

Fede  clung  to  him  passionately.  **  But  it 
wouldn't,  it  w^ouldn't,"  she  cried.  *'  I  know 
you  better  than  you  know  yourself,  Hubert. 
My  name  is  Fede,  and  Fede  means  faith.  I 
have  faith  in  you,  darling.  You're  not  that 
man's  son — not  in  the  sense  you  mean  it. 
You're  so  good,  so  gentle,  as  well  as  so  clever. 
I  can  trust  you,  Hubert — body  and  soul  I  can 
trust  you."  He  gave  a  gesture  of  dissent  ;  but 
she  clung  to  him  still,  and  cut  him  short  with  a 
wave  of  her  hand.  *'  My  intuition  tells  me  so," 
she  said,  "  and  I  know  I  can  rely  upon  it.  My 
name  against  your  doubts  !  My  faith  against 
your  fear  !  My  heart  against  your  brain  ! 
My  instinct  against  your  reason  ! " 

She  tried  to  kiss  him  once  more — tried  to 

kiss   him   passionately.      Hubert   drew    back 

with  a  wild  look  of  terror.     He  held  out  his 

hand   as   if  to   protect   her  against    himself. 
II 


l62 


A  Splendid  Sin. 


"  No,  darling,  no  !  "  he  cried.  "  Not  me— not 
me  !  You  have  kissed  me  for  the  last  time  ! 
Never  again,  Fede— never  !  " 

Fede  dragged  him  down  to  her  lips  with  a 
fierce  burst  of  passion.  "  Yes,  you  shall,"  she 
exclaimed,  clasping  him  hard.  "  You  shall  ! 
You  must,  my  darling !  "  And  she  drew  him 
to  her  bosom. 

At  that  inopportune  moment  the  door  opened 
suddenly,  and  Colonel  Egremont  entered. 


The  Point  of  View.  163 


CHAPTER   XII. 

THE  POINT  OF  VIEW. 

He  stood  for  some  seconds  just  within  the 
doorway,  with  his  mock-mihtary  air,  twirhng 
his    grizzled   mustache,   and    surveying  com- 
placently the  whole  family  group  whom  he  had 
thrown  by  his  action  into  this  state  of  misery. 
The  eyeglass,  screwing  up  that  bloated  face^ 
made  him  more  hideous  than  even  he  would 
have  been  by  nature.     Then  he   spoke  very 
jauntily.     ''  Sorry  to  intrude,  I'm  sure,"  he  said 
with  a  hateful  grin,  **  upon  this  domestic  party, 
—and  at  such  a  moment  !     But  after  all,  we 
must  remember,  I'm  the  Head  of  the  House— 
and  "—spreading  his  hands  pathetically—'*  what 
is  Home  without  a  Father  ? " 

He  had  evidently  been  drinking  even  more 
than  usual,  and  his  voice  was  thick  ;  but  he 
had  still  a  strange  air  of  affected  bonhouiic,  and 
a  triumphant  manner. 

Hubert   sprang    up  with    a  fierce  gesture. 
*'How  dare  you  enter  this  room,  sir  ?"  he  cried 
moving  forward.  ' 

.    The    Colonel  advanced  a  step,  blustering. 


164  A  Splendid  Sin. 

*'  Upon  my  soul,"  he  said,  bridling  up,  **  pretty 
sort  of  treatment  for  a  long-lost  parent  !  My 
own  flesh  and  blood  to  assault  me  in  that 
fashion  !  Am  I  to  be  debarred  from  access  to 
my  wife's  rooms,  and  violently  attacked  by  my 
son  on  the  threshold  ?  If  I  w^ere  not  the  best- 
natured  old  reprobate  in  the  world,  by  George, 
sir,  I  tell  you,  I'd  lose  my  temper."  He  gave 
a  little  start,  and  took  a  long  look  through  his 
eyeglass  atFede.  "  What,  a  joy  forever  ?  "  he 
exclaimed,  with  one  of  his  odious  leers.  "  So 
this  is  your  fiancee,  then,  is  it,  Mr.  Hubert? 
Why,  I've  been  hearing  all  about  her  down- 
stairs from  the  head  waiter.  Good  mornmg, 
my  dear  !  Delighted,  I'm  sure,  to  make  your 
acquaintance  !  A  deuced  good-looking  3'oung 
woman  she  is  too,  Hubert.  As  pretty  as  they 
make  'em  !  But  the  Egremonts  were  always 
famous  for  their  taste  in  their  choice  of  their 
womankind.  I  was  a  courwisseiir  myself  in 
female  beauty  once.  Look  at  your  mother,  my 
boy  ;  devilish  fine  girl  she  was  when  she  w^as 
a  girl  ;  and  devilish  handsome  w^oman  she  is 
to  this  day,  at  forty  odd — devilish  handsome 
woman,  though  a  trifle  haughty !  " 

"  Sir,"  Hubert  cried,  unable  to  endure  it, 
and  placing  himself  full  in  front  of  the  creature, 
with  one  fist  raised  warningly. 

"Hot-tempered,  isn't  he,  my  dear?"  the 
Colonel  continued  w^ith  a  nod  to  Fede.  "  Can't 
restrain    his    emotions.     But,    children,    you 


I 


The  Point  of  View.  165 

should  never  let— fie,  fie,  Mr.  Hubert !  Allow 
me  to  introduce  myself,  my  dear,  as  your  pros- 
pective papa-in-law.  We're  to  be  relations, 
you  know.  My  name  is  Walter  Egremont  ; 
my  address— Europe."  He  moved  suddenly 
forward,  with  a  curious  lurch,  as  if  to  kiss 
her. 

Fede  shrank  back  in  terror.  "  Oh,  Hubert, 
don't  let  him  come  near  me  !  "  she  cried,  re- 
treating, with  a  face  of  fierce  repugnance. 

Hubert  caught  the  man  in  his  arms  and 
flung  him  bodily  back.  "  Stand  off,  sir  !  "  he 
cried,  growing  red  in  the  face.  "  How  dare 
you?" 

Sir  Emilius  laid  one  hand  on  the  intruder's 
shoulder.  "  Now,  restrain  yourself,  Walter," 
he  said.  *'This  is  not  a  pot-house.  Leave 
the  room  instantly,  if  you  know  what's  good 
for  you.  I  will  talk  matters  over  with  you  in 
the  garden  quietly."  For  he  was  used  to  the 
insane,  and  he  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  Col- 
onel's mood  was  not  far  off  from  alcoholic 
insanity. 

As  for  Colonel  Egremont,  he  drew  b^^ick 
a  pace,  reeling  slightly  as  he  did  so,  not  so 
much  from  drink  as  from  his  nervous  affection, 
and  scanned  Fede  and  Hubert  up  and  down 
solemnly.  "  A  pretty  pair,"  he  mused  aloud, 
in  a  judicial  tone.  "  A  very  pretty  pair!  Upon 
my  soul,  I'm  proud  of  them.  Julia,  my  dear, 
this  son  of  mine's  a  handsome,  well-grown,  up- 


i66  A  Splendid  Sin. 

standing  young  Egremont.  The  very  model 
of  the  race  !  I  always  did  believe  in  the  doc- 
trine of  heredity  ! " 

**  Then  how  dare  you  become  the  father  of 
a  son?"  Hubert  burst  out  bitterly.  ''How 
dare  you  reproduce  your  own  vile  image  ? " 

The  Colonel  measured  him  up  and  down 
with  his  eye,  and  smiled.  "  That's  pretty 
straight,  that  is  !  "  he  answered  slowly,  as  if 
trying  to  take  it  in.  "One  in  the  eye  for  me  ! 
Pretty  hot  and  strong  !  Prepare  to  receive 
cavalry  !  Julia,  you  haven't  brought  your  boy 
up  to  respect  his  parents.  Train  up  a  child 
in  the  w^y  he  should  go — you  know  Mr.  Solo- 
mon. Signorina  Marchesa,  do  you  allow  this 
young  fellow  to  speak  in  such  very  unparlia- 
mentary terms  of  your  future  father  ?" 

He  took  a  step  towards  her  again.  Hubert 
darted  upon  him  wildly.  "  Leave  this  room, 
sir,"  he  cried,  lifting  the  Colonel  bodily  and 
carrying  him  to  the  door.  "  You're  not  fit  to 
remain  under  the  same  roof  with  my  mother 
and  this  lady.  Though  you  were  fifty  times 
my  father,  if  you  speak  like  that,  by  God,  sir, 
you  shall  answer  for  it." 

The  Colonel,  however,  was  still  imperturb- 
able. "  Go  on,  young  man,"  he  cried,  in  a 
half -angry,  half -mocking  voice ;  "go  on  ! 
Pray  don't  be  shy.  Don't  mind  my  feelings 
— a  father's  feelings !  Say  just  what  you 
please  !     Curse  me  to  slow  music  !  "  i 


The  Point  of  View.  167 

He  half  turned  the  door  handle.  Hubert 
and  Sir  Emilius  followed  him  up  menacingly. 
At  the  same  moment  the  door  burst  open 
suddenly,  and  the  Marchese  entered  with  a 
look  of  amazement. 

"Why,  what  is  this  ?"  he  inquired,  looking 
about  him,  and  taking  it  in.  **  Are  we  to  ex- 
plain in  this  way  your  unaccountable  conduct, 
Mr.  Egremont  ?  What  is  this  man  doing  here  ? 
I  suppose  he's  the  person  you  spoke  about, 
Fede  ? " 

Th6  Colonel  took  advantage  of  the  unex- 
pected diversion  to  return  to  the  room. 
**Yes,"  he  answered,  with  slow  maliciousness, 
delighted  to  display  himself  to  the  utmost  dis- 
advantage before  Fede's  father.  *'  Every 
family  of  distinction  has  a  skeleton  in  its  cup- 
board,— and  " — he  adjusted  his  eyeglass — "  / 
am  the  skeleton  !  " 

The  Marchese  surveyed  him  with  profound 
contempt  from  head  to  foot,  and  then  held  out 
one  hand  to  keep  him  at  a  respectful  distance. 
"  Well,  and  a  precious  ugly  specimen  too,"  he 
answered,  deliberately. 

"  Runs  through  the  family,"  the  Colonel 
murmured,  glancing  with  amusement  from  the 
Marchese  to  Fede.  *'  If  this  is  Italian  polite- 
ness— give  me  the  refined  and  courteous  Lon- 
don costermonger." 

The  Marchese  turned  to  Sir  Emilius.  **  If 
I  judge  rightly,"  he  said,  in  his  coldest  voice, 


i68  A  Splendid  Sin. 

**  when  I  arrived  you  were  just  engaged  in 
ejecting  this — person  ? " 

"  We  were,"  Sir  Emilius  answered  frankly. 

**  Then  why  does  he  come  back? "the  Mar- 
chese  demanded,  in  a  rather  acrid  tone. 

Colonel  Egremont  bristled  up.  "  Take  care, 
sir,"  he  cried,  blustering,  *'how  you  venture 
to  touch  a  British  soldier !  " 

The  Marchese  took  his  measure  with  a  rapid 
glance.  '*  Oh,  if  you  elevate  it  to  the  dignity 
of  an  international  contest,"  he  answered  de- 
liberately, **  though  Switzerland  is  neutral  ter- 
ritory— well,  evviva  Htalia  ! "  And  with  a 
sudden  and  dexterous  advance,  he  seized  the 
intruder  in  his  powerful  arms — for  he  was  a 
very  strong  man — lifted  him  clean  off  the  floor, 
and  bundled  him  out  unceremoniously. 

Sir  Emilius,  with  the  coolness  of  a  doctor 
in  trying  circumstances,  turned  the  key  in  the 
door  the  moment  the  Colonel  was  safely  out- 
side it. 

The  Marchese  addressed  himself  to  Hubert, 
evidently  ruffled.  "  I  hope,  Mr.  Egremont," 
he  said,  "  this  awkward  little  episode  may  be 
made  satisfactorily  to  account  for  your  extraor- 
dinary absence  at  so  critical  a  moment.  My 
daughter  has  told  me  something  of  this  crea- 
ture. A  most  loathsome  object  !  He  lays 
some  preposterous  claim  to  being  your  father, 
doesn't  he  ?  A  madman,  no  doubt.  But  why 
should  his  conduct  have  driven  you  to  absent 


The  Point  of  View.  169 

yourself  with  such  marked  discourtesy  at  such 
a  juncture  ?" 

Sir  EmiHus  glanced  at  Hubert  imploringly. 
But  Hubert  was  true  to  his  principle  of  fidelity 
to  the  truth.  "  I  luitst  tell  him,  uncle,"  he 
said,  with  a  piteous  shake  of  his  head.  "  I 
can't  deny  it  ! — Marchese,  the  man  says  what 
is  simply  true.     He  is  my  father  !  " 

The  Marchese  smiled  benignly.  The 
avowal  seemed  rather  to  please  him  than  other- 
wise. *'  Oh,  of  course,"  he  answered,  ap- 
peased, "  if  he  has  happened  to  turn  up  at  an 
inconvenient  moment  and  upset  your  arrange- 
ments, I  can  easily  understand  there  may  be 
some  reason  for  your  singular  conduct.  I 
gather  that  a  certain  degree  of  coldness  seems 
to  reign  within  the  family." 

"  Let  me  explain,"  Sir  Emilius  said  blandly, 
fearing  that  Hubert  might  make  things  worse 
in  his  present  mood  of  despair.  "  This  man, 
I  regret  to  say,  is  really  Mrs.  Egremont's  hus- 
band. But  I  must  also  admit  he  is  a  rake  and 
a  drunkard.  His  financial  transactions  have 
also  been — well,  let  us  put  it,  imaginative.  To 
say  it  in  brief,  he  has  disgraced  the  family. 
My  sister  is  compelled  to  live  alone,  and  to 
pension  him  off,  on  condition  that  he  never 
comes  nearer  England  than  Nice  or  Lugano. 
As  he  generally  lives  under  an  assumed  name, 
and  has  had  nothing  to  do  for  years  with  my 
nephew,  we  didn't  feel  bound  to  mention  his 


170  A  Splendid  Sin. 

existence  heretofore  to  Hubert,  who  thought 
till  now  that  his  father  was  dead,  and  has  only 
just  learnt  accidentally  of  his  survival." 

The  Marchese  smiled  a  cynical  smile.  *'  Don't 
apologize  for  that,"  he  answered.  **  It  does 
not  concern  me.  It  is  Mr.  Hubert's  absence  that 
calls  for  an  explanation,  which  will,  no  doubt, 
be  forthcoming.  For  my  own  part,  I  don't 
like  too  much  unity  in  a  family  circle.  It's 
entirely  bourgeois — shows  the  relations  have 
never  had  any  Property  w^orth  speaking  of  to 
quarrel  over.  From  what  you  told  me,  I  gather 
Mrs.  Egremont  has,  by  English  law,  sole  con- 
trol of  her  own  estate,  and  that  this  superfluous 
husband  possesses  no  legal  claim  of  any  sort 
upon  her." 

*'  That  is  so,"  Sir  Emilius  answered.  *'  He 
lives  upon  her  bounty." 

*'Then,"  the  Marchese  went  on,  with  an  air 
of  relief,  "  we  may  treat  this  unprepossessing 
gentleman  as  a  mere  cipher." 

Fede  broke  out  in  a  sudden  cry.  '*  But, 
papa,"  she  said,  sobbing,  "Hubert  doesn't  see 
things  like  that  at  all.  He  thinks  he's  bound 
not  to  marry  me  if  this  man's  his  father." 

The  Marchese  turned  round  with  a  bewil- 
dered air.  "  Thinks  he's  bound  not  to  marry 
you  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  Not  to  marry  a  Torna- 
buoni  !  Why,  why,  Mr.  Egremont  ?  I  ask 
you,  yes  or  no  ?  Has  this  man  any  claim  on 
your  mother's  Property  ? " 


The  Point  of  View.  171 

"  On  her  property  ? "  Hubert  answered. 
''  Not  the  least  in  the  world,  so  far  as  I  am 
aware."     The  point  of  view  puzzled  him. 

"  The  estate  is  absolutely  settled  on  my  sis- 
ter," Sir  Emilius  put  in  ;  "with  remainder  to 
Hubert,    as    I    have    already    explained    to 

you." 

"  Then  where  does  the  difBculty  come  in  ? " 
the  Marchese  continued,  looking  puzzled. 
"  Why  shouldn't  you  marry  her  ?  " 

''  You  don't  understand,"  Hubert  cried. 
*'  With  a  father  such  as  that,  how  can  I  ?  How 
dare  I  ?     I  am  doomed  beforehand  to  hopeless 

madness." 

The  Marchese  almost  laughed.  "  What,  a 
fine  young  fellow  like  you,"  he  cried,  "  with  the 
limbs  of  a  mountaineer  and  the  chest  of  a 
Bersagliere  !     Sentimental  nonsense  !  " 

♦'You  can't  see  it,  I  suppose,"  Hubert  mur- 
mured, "with  the  eye  of  a  physiologist." 

The  Marchese  was  severe.  "  No,  but  I  can 
see  it  with  the  eye  of  a  gentleman  and  a  man 
of  honor,"  he  answered,  growing  hot.  "  I  un- 
derstand what  you  mean  now.  You  mean  to 
act  like  a  cad  to  my  daughter." 

Sir  Emilius  detected  quickened  action  of  the 
heart  in  the  swollen  veins  of  the  Marchese's 
forehead.  He  interposed  as  composer  of  the 
rising  storm.  "  Wait  a  moment,"  he  said,  with 
his  bland  medical  manner.  "  Marchese,  you 
and  I  will  talk  things  over  together  a  little. 


172  A  Splendid  Sin. 

Julia,  my  dear,  leave  us— and  you,  too,  Marchesa. 
Hubert,  take  your  mother  out  into  the  garden 
awhile,  and  tlien  come  back  to  us.  We  must 
arrange  this  tiling  gradually.  It's  entirely  a 
question  of  the  point  of  view.  Your  points  of 
view  are  different.  I  sympathize  with  both — 
and  I  will  try  to  harmonize  them." 

The  Marchese  bowed  stiffly.  "As  you  will, 
signore,"  he  answered,  with  cold  politeness. 
"  But  this  marriage  is  arranged  now,  Tindccuniot 
be  put  oif.  I  allow  no  going  back  upon  the 
claims  of  my  daughter." 

Sir  Emilius  bowed  in  return,  and  motioned 
Mrs.  Egremont  and  Fede  to  leave  the  room. 
Hubert  went  with  them. 

"  Well  ? "  the  Marchese  said  coldly,  looking 
across  at  his  opponent. 

*'  Well,"  Sir  Emilius  began,  "  Marchese, 
my  nephew  is  deeply  in  love  with  your 
daughter." 

"Sir  !  "  the  Italian  exclaimed. 

"  I  mean,"  Sir  Emilius  corrected,  perceiving 
his  error,  "  Hubert's  affections  are  deeply  en- 
gaged to  her.  It  is  through  no  lack  of  will  that 
he  has  doubts  about  his  marriage." 

*'  I  don't  understand,"  the  Marchese  replied, 
in  his  chilliest  voice.  "  If  he  is  not  going  to 
marry  my  daughter,  how  dare  he  tell  me  he 
has  feelings  of  affection  for  her  ?  In  Italy,  Sir 
Emilius,  we  cannot  permit  such  avowals. 
Either  the  young  man  means  marriage,  or  else  " 


The  Point  of  View.  173 

— his  hand  sought  an  imaginary  sword — "  we 
settle  these  questions  in  that  way." 

Sir  Emihus  tried  another  tack.  "  Let  me 
exphiin  to  you  my  nephew's  idea,"  he  said,  still 
bland  as  ever.  "  He  has — er — the  profoundest 
admiration  and  respect  for  your  daughter,  Mar- 
chese.  He  desires  to  marry  her.  But  the 
sudden  discovery  of  his  father's  degradation — 
for  I  will  admit  that  Colonel  Egremont  is 
really  a  drunken  and  degraded  creature — has 
given  him  such  a  shock  that  he  has  momentary 
qualms  which  his  common  sense  will  soon  no 
doubt  enable  him  to  get  over.  He  is  a  physi- 
ologist, you  must  recollect  ;  too  much  a  physi- 
ologist ;  and  he  fancies  he  must  inherit  his 
father's  physical  taint.  Indeed,  as  a  medical 
man,  I  am  bound  to  admit  that  the  chances  in 
favor  of  any  person  who  comes  from  a  family 
so  deeply  tainted  are  usually — infinitesimal. 
Though  in  Hubert's  case  I  have  good  hopes 
that  his  mother's  fine  physique— but  I  see  you 
are  impatient." 

"  I  am,"  the  Marchese  admitted,  fuming 
visibly.  "  What  has  all  this  got  to  do  with 
your  nephew's  arrangement  to  marry  my 
daughter  ?  It  is  for  her  to  consider  whether 
she  will  take  the  risk — which,  frankly,  to  me 
seems,  as  you  say,  infinitesimal." 

**  I — I  meant  the  other  way,"  Sir  Emilius 
corrected,  taken  aback. 

The  Marchese  pursed  his  lips.     *'  Not  at  all," 


174  A  Splendid  Sin. 

he  answered.  His  tone  was  acid.  "The  mat- 
ter stands  thus.  Mr.  Egremont  has  formally 
proposed  for  my  daughter.  I  have  accepted 
his  offer.  He  now  wants  to  back  out,  appar- 
ently—on a  most  frivolous  pretext.  As  a  man 
of  honor,  I  cannot  permit  it." 

"  He  w411  not  back  out,  I  am  sure,"  Sir  Emil- 
ius  responded  diplomatically.  "  That  is  to  say, 
when  he  recovers  mental  balance." 

"  Not  with  impunity,  certainly,"  the  Marchese 
answered  stiffly.  His  hand  moved  once  more 
towards  his  hip  with  a  nervous  movement. 

"  He  is  a  fine  healthy  young  fellow,"  Sir 
Emilius  went  on,  "  with  excellent  principles." 

The  Marchese  snapped  his  fingers.  "  My 
dear  sir,"  he  answered,  "  you  are  altogether 
too  English.  We  talk  at  cross  purposes. 
What  on  earth  do  I  care  about  your  nephew's 
principles  ?  What  do  I  care  about  his  heredity, 
if  that's  the  right  word  for  it  ?  Heredity's  all 
very  well  in  its  way,  when  you  know  the  facts. 
But  you  never  know  them.  Isn't  marriage 
expressly  invented  to  conceal  Uiem  ?  It  puts 
a  premium  on  denial  of  paternity.  Haven't 
you  English  an  unusually  sensible  proverb 
about  it's  being  a  wise  child  who  knows  his 
own  father  ? " 

It  was  Sir  Emilius's  turn  now  to  be  shocked 
and  insulted.  "  My  dear  sir,"  he  exclaimed, 
bristling  up,  **  remember  !  my  sister  !  "  Noth- 
ing but  tb     fact  that  the  Marchese  was  only 


The  Point  of  View.  175 

a  foreigner  could    have  restrained  him  from 
deeply  resentmg  the  imputation. 

"Ah,  yes,"  the   Marchese   interjected      "I 
forgot  !     In  England,  of  course  !     You  Eng- 
hsh  are  so  mipeccable.     You  have  no  romance 
no  love,    no    affection.      These    things    don't 
happen,  chez  vous.    Whereas  we  other  Italians 
you  see "  ' 

"  Oh,  with  Italiansr  Sir  Emilius  answered 
drily,  drawing  himself  up,  "  that's  quite  another 

matter.     But  north  of  the  Alps,  Marchese " 

"  True,  true,"  the  Marchese  mused.  *'  And 
yet— there  was  your  friend  the  poet  He 
caught  the  subtle  aroma  of  life  as  it  passed. 
And  he  was  an  Englishman.  No,  no  an 
American.  Yet  English  and  Americans'  are 
alike  in  that.  But  then  I  suppose  poets  don't 
count.  They  have  no  nationality— just  the 
poetic  temperament." 

*' He  was  the  austerest  and  purest  of  men  " 
Sir  Emihus  said,  too  surprised   to  be  angry. 

Have  you  read  his  Givcndoline^  What 
could  be  severer  ? " 

"His  poetry?  Ah,  yes.  Most  ascetic,  no 
doubt  But  his  ///^-ah,  there  !  I  knew  him 
well  Sir  Emilius.  He  longed  to  be  a  saint- 
but  he  loved  to  be  a  sinner." 

"  Well,  Hubert,  I  believe,  will  get  over  this 
mood,  the  Englishman  went  on,  reverting  to 
the  matter  in  hand.  *'  It  is  a  natural  revul- 
sion. 


176  A  Splendid  Sin. 

*'  He  must  get  over  it,"  the  Florentine  an- 
swered, **  or  take  the  consequences.  And  you 
know  what  those  are  !  Ah,  here  he  comes  to 
answer  for  it." 

As  he  spoke,  Hubert  entered,  still  as  de- 
jected and  despondent  as  ever.  Sir  Emilius 
tried  to  prompt  him.  **  I  have  been  explain- 
ing to  the  Marchese,"  he  said,  in  his  most 
persuasive  tone,  **  that  you  are  momentarily 
taken  aback  by  this  unfortunate  episode  ;  but 
that,  after  you  have  had  time  for  reflection  and 
consideration " 

Hubert  shook  his  head  firmly.  *'  No,  no," 
he  answered.  **  Let  us  be  clear  about  this. 
If  I  am  that  man's  son — I  will  never,  never 
marry  Fede." 

"You  won't  ?"  the  Marchese  cried,  stepping 
closer. 

"  For  her  own  sake,  no,"  Hubert  answered 
firml}^ — "  and  for  her  possible  children." 

The  Marchese's  face  grew  red.  *'  My  dear 
sir,"  he  said,  "  this  is  absurd,  quixotic  !  You 
don't  know  what  you're  talking  about.  The 
marriage  is  arranged,  and  must  come  off  now. 
I  believed  I  was  dealing  with  persons  of  honor. 
I  have  telegraphed  the  facts  to  all  the  Floren- 
tine journals,  as  well  as  to  my  family,  and 
have  received  in  return  the  congratulations  of 
the  Sindaco.  By  this  time,  my  daughter's 
engagement  is  the  common  talk  of  the  Cascine. 
To  break  it  off  at  such  a  stage  would  be,  you 


The  Point  of  View.  177 

must  understand — as  \vc  Italians  think — a 
direct  impugnment  of  my  daughter's  honor. 
Nobody  would  suppose  you  could  go  back 
upon  your  word  now,  except  on  grounds, — 
which  I  decline  to  specify."  His  face  grew 
redder  still.  "You  can't  play  fast  and  loose 
in  that  way,"  he  added,  "with  a  Tornabuoni." 

"  But  for  Fede's  own  happiness,  Mar- 
chese "  Hubert  began. 

"  How  dare  you,  sir  ? "  the  Marchese  cried, 
turning  upon  him.  "  How  dare  you  speak  of 
the  Marchesa,  my  daughter,  as  Fede  to  my 
face,  in  the  very  same  breath  in  which  you 
tell  me  you  do  not  mean  to  marry  her  ?  Break 
it  off  ?  Not  at  all  !  The  thing's  simply  im- 
possible !  What  is  her  happiness,  I'd  like  to 
know,  to  the  honor  of  the  family  ?  Here  on 
the  Continent  we  have  oar  ideas  of  honor. 
We  treat  our  marriages  as  binding  contracts. 
You  shall  not  put  a  public  slight  upon  my 
daughter's  reputation.  We  meet  a  public 
slight — you  know  our  way— by  referring  the 
matter  to  the  sword  or  the  pistol.  If  you 
persist  in  this  course — this  most  absurd  course 
— I  must  ask  you  the  name  of  some  friend 
who  will  act  for  you." 

Sir  Emilius  tried  once  more  to  throw  the 
oil  of  pacification  upon  the  troubled  waters. 
"  Let  this  wear  itself  out,  signore,"  he  mur- 
mured, touching  the  Italian's  arm.     "  Hubert 

in  his  present  condition " 

12 


178  A  Splendid  Sin. 

"  I  don't  care  a  damn  for  his  present  con- 
dition !  "  the  Marchese  answered  angrily,  with 
idiomatic  vigor.  "  It  won't  do  ;  I  can't  even 
discuss  the  subject.  As  a  Tornabuoni,  I  am 
the  guardian  of  my  daughter's  honor.  No 
man  shall  insult  her,  while  I  live,  and  go  un- 
punished. Your  friend's  name,  sir  ;  your 
friend's  name  !  This  has  gone  beyond  mere 
talking ! " 

Sir  Emilius  made  one  more  unavailing  effort. 
"  It  is  for  the  Marchesa's  ow^n  sake,"  he  said 
gently,  *'  that  my  nephew  desired  to  break  off 
the  marriage.  I  think  he  desires  it  on  mistaken 
grounds.     He  is  too  acutely  apprehensive." 

*'  No,  uncle,"  Hubert  answered,  growing 
more  fixed  each  minute.  "  It  is  a  matter  of 
principle.  I  will  not  depart  from  the  stand  I 
have  taken.  My  mother  had  no  right  to  marry 
my  father.  Fede  has  no  right  to  marry  me. 
Though  she  beg  and  implore  me,  I  refuse  to 
put  this  grave  wTong  upon  her." 

The  Marchese  raised  his  voice.  *'  Then 
you  must  take  the  consequences,"  he  answered 
haughtily.  "  Give  me  the  name  of  your  friend 
—or  I  run  you  through,  wherever  I  meet  you, 
for  your  insult  to  my  daughter." 

*'  Papa  !  papa  !  "  Fede  cried,  rushing  in  and 
seizing  his  hand.  The  loud  tones  had  reached 
her.     "  Oh,  Sir  Emilius,  separate  them  !  " 

Mrs.  Egremont  followed  the  tremulous  girl 
into  the  room.     Her  face  w^as  wliite  as  death, 


The  Point  of  View.  179 

but  terribly  resolute.  ''  Hubert,  darling/'  she 
said  slowly,  standing  between  the  two  men 
"wait!  Don't  quarrel  with  Fede's  father' 
Marchese,  I  implore  you,  allow  me  to  talk  with 
my  boy  a  little.  I  think  I  can  persuade  him. 
Ihis  may  be  arranged  even  now."  She  spoke 
witli  resolution,  but  with  deadly  earnestness. 

1  he  Marchese  looked  down  at  her  with  icy 
politeness.  ''Certainly,  dear  lady,"  he  an- 
swered, with  Italian  courtesy.  "  Your  sex  can 
do  much.  Perhaps  it  may  even  assist  you  to 
persuade  this  headstrong  young  fanatic."  He 
paused  for  a  second  and  mused.  "  Yon  more 
than  any  one  else,"  he  added,  after  a  second's 
thought.  "  The  entanglement  is,  perhaps,  not 
quite  so  impossible  as  the  signore  fancies." 

Mrs.  Egremont  waved  Sir  Emilius  with  one 
hand  from  the  room.     The  Marchese  bowed 
and  accompanied  him.     Fede  clung  to  her  nevv 
friend,     "  Must  /  go  too  ?"  she  asked  plead- 
ingly. 

Mrs.  Egremont  stooped  down  and  kissed  her 
tenderly.  "  Yes,  dear,  you  must  go,"  she  said, 
in  a  very  gentle  voice,  yet  tremulous  with  cour- 
age. "  It  is  for  your  own  sake,  Fede.  Wait 
for  us  in  my  bedroom.  I  will  call  you  when  I 
want  you." 

"But  nothing  you  can  say  will   alter  me 
mother,"  Hubert  added,  in  a  tone   of  abject 
despair.     "  I  have  made  up  my  mind.     That 
person's  son  can  never  marry." 


i8o  A  Splendid  Sin. 

Fede  cast  a  glance  at  him  as  she  left  the 
room.  *'  Marry  me  or  not,  darling,"  she  cried, 
*'  I  am  yours  forever.  I  shall  be  true  to  my 
name.     Pvly  faith  shall  be  faithful." 


? 


I 


A  Great  Confession.    ■  i8i 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  GREAT   CONFESSION. 

Mrs.  Egremont  flung  herself  in  despair  on 
the  sofa.  She  trembled  violently,  and  her  lips 
quivered  ;  but  her  air  was  resolute.  Hubert 
seated  himself  by  her  side,  his  hands  folded 
despondently. 

"  My  boy,"  the  mother  said  softly  at  last,  "  I 
have  somethingtotellyou— something  I  hoped 
never  to  breathe  while  I  lived— though  after 
I  was  dead  I  always  meant  that  you  should 
know  it.  I  had  written  it  down  in  my  desk  to 
tell  you.  But  you  compel  me  to  speak  now. 
I  can't  Iielp  it  any  longer.     I  can't  delay  it." 

"  Go  on,  mother,"  Hubert  said  gloomily, 
taking  her  hand  in  his.  "  I  am  strong  enough 
— and  crushed  enough— to  bear  anything  now. 
Nothing  on  earth  matters  to  me." 

**  This  will  matter  to  you,"  Mrs.  Egremont 
said,  in  a  very  grave  voice.  **  Oh,  where  can  I 
begin  ? "  She  cast  about  for  an  opening. 
**  Hubert,  help  me,  my  boy.  Can't  you  guess  ? 
Can't  you  spare  me  ?  Something  that  will 
enable  you  to  marry  Fede," 


i82  A  Splendid  Sin. 

Hubert  looked  at  her,  dull  as  a  leaden  sky. 
The  English  boy's  implicit  belief  and  faith  in 
his  mother  prevented  him  for  one  moment 
from  guessing  the  fact  she  was  trying  to  tell  him. 

"Impossible!"  he  said.  "Impossible!  I 
will  not  and  cannot." 

The  mother  braced  herself  up  for  a  painful 
effort.  "  Listen,  Hubert,"  she  said,  speaking 
low.  "  I  was  married  at  seventeen,  as  I  told 
you  this  morning.  What  did  I  know  of  life 
then  ?  I  have  explained  to  you  //ow,  and  you 
have  seen  with  your  eyes  to  what  sort  of  person. 
Married  to  a  man  I  could  not  possibly  love — 
a  man  I  soon  learned  to  hate  and  despise  as 
much  as  I  loathed  him." 

"  You  might  have  been  married  to  him," 
Hubert  answered  slowly,  "  but  why  did  you 
consent  to  go  on  living  with  him  ?  Every 
w^oman  is  the  guardian  of  her  own  purity.  To 
live  with  a  man  she  loathes  is  a  dishonor  and 
degradation  to  her  own  body." 

"So//^  told  me,"  Mrs.  Egremont  whispered. 
But  Hubert  was  deaf.  He  could  not  under- 
stand her. 

"  Why  did  you  live  with  him  ? "  he  went  on, 
more  in  w^onder  than  reproach.  "  Why  did 
you  let  him  remain  with  you  ?" 

"  I  did  not— for  one  moment  longer  than  I 
could  help,"  Mrs.  Egremont  answered,  whisper- 
ing low\  **  I  bought  him  off,  and  sent  him 
awa}^,  as  soon  as  I  w^as  able." 


A  Great  Confession.  183 

"  A  year  too  late,"  Hubert  answered.  *'  And 
/am  here  to  prove  it." 

Mrs.  Egremont  clasped  her  hands.  **  No, 
darling,  no,"  she  cried.  '*  Bear  with  me,  Hu- 
bert. I  must  tell  it  my  own  way,  if  I'm  to  tell  it 
at  all.  Oh,  how  can  I  ever  tell  it  ?  I  lived  with 
him,  and  hated  him  ;  but,  thank  God !  I  was 
childless.  That  alone  consoled  me.  Four 
years  after  my  marriage  I  went  witli  him  to 
Venice.  I  had  no  baby  yet,  then,  and  prayed, 
oh,  how  fervently,  I  might  never  have  one. 
To  bear  a  child  for  ////;/,  I  felt,  would  have 
been   cruel— no,   criminal."     She  paused,  and 

looked  hard  at  her  son.     "  At  Venice "  she 

went  on,  then  broke  off  suddenly  ;   "  do  you 
begin  to  understand,  Hubert  ? " 

The  young  man  nestled  close  to  her.  "Go 
on,"  he  cried.  *'  Go  on  !  I  begin  to  suspect. 
You  give  me  fresh  hope,  mother." 

''At  Venice,"  the  mother  continued,  hiding 
her  face  in  her  hands,  "  I  met  a  Man— a  very 
great  Man— the  greatest  I  ever  knew— who 
fascinated  me  deeply.  I  admired  and  re- 
spected him.  Hubert,  Hubert,  need  I  say  any 
more  to  you  ?  " 

Hubert  leaned  eagerly  forward.  "  Yes,  yes," 
he  cried.  "  Go  on  !  I  must  know  it  all—all ! 
Tell  me  everything,  mother  !  " 

"You  said  you  wished  the  truth,"  Mrs. 
Egremont  moaned  faintly. 

"  I  wishthe  truth,"  Hubert  answered.     "  By 


i84  A  Splendid  Sin. 

that  wc  live.  Go  on,  go  on  !  I  knoiv  it  was 
well,  mother  !  " 

"  He  loved  me,"  the  trembling  woman  went 
on.  "  He  loved  me,  and  he  told  me  so.  I 
loved  him,  and  1  denied  it.  I  thought  it  was 
wrong  to  love  ;  I  thought  it  was  right  to  eon- 
ceal  the  truth.  But  he  found  it  out  in  spite 
of  me.  '  We  needs  must  love  the  highest  when 
we  see  it,'  he  used  to  say,  and — I  loved  him 
wdth  all  the  purest  love  of  my  nature.  Two 
things  I  longed  for — sympathy,  and  a  child. 
He  gave  me  sympathy,  and  he  told  me  mater- 
nity was  a  sacred  right  and  duty  of  woman- 
hood." 

"  He  said  the  truth,"  Hubert  cried,  drawing 
closer  and  closer  to  the  trembling  mother. 
*'  Till  she  has  borne  a  child,  no  woman  has 
realized  her  own  whole  nature." 

"  He  w^as  beautiful  and  noble-hearted,"  Mrs. 
Egremont  went  on — "  a  leader  among  men  ;  a 
teacher  and  thinker  ;  and  there,  in  those  glo- 
rious streets,  among  those  glorious  churches, 
he  taught  me  new  lessons— oh,  Hubert,  dare  I 
say  them  ?  He  taught  me  it  was  wrong  for  me 
to  remain  one  day  longer  under  the  same  roof 
with  the  husband  whom  I  loathed— told  me  in 
almost  the  self-same  words  as  those  you  used 
to-day,  that  in  yielding  myself  up  to  a  man  I 
despised,  I  profaned  and  dishonored  my  own 
body." 

"Dear  mother,"  the  son  said,  "go  on  !     I 


A  Great  Confession.  185 

know  all  now  ;  but  tell  it  me  ;  tell  it  me  !  " 
His  voice  was  eager. 

Mrs.  Egremont  hid  her  head,  overcome  with 
womanly  shame.  "  He  told  me,"  she  whis- 
pered, "  I  ought  to  trust  my  own  heart,  and 
defy  conventions.  He  said  the  bond  that  bound 
me  to  that  man  was  cruel  and  unholy.  He 
spoke  so  earnestly,  he  loved  nie  so  purely, 
that,  bit  by  bit  he  overcame  my  scruples.  I 
could  not  conceal  it  from  myself  or  from 
him.     I    loved  him   to  distraction." 

Hubert  smoothed  her  hand  with  a  gentle 
pressure,  but  answered  nothing. 

"  One  evening  at  Venice,"  the  mother  contin- 
ued, *'  he  pressed  me  close  to  his  heart— his 
great  beautiful  heart — oh,  close,  so  close  ;  and 
he  cried  aloud  to  me,  in  a  sense  I  had  never 
before  realized,  those  beautiful  words,  '  Whom 
God  hath  joined  together,  let  not  man  put 
asunder.'  The  voice  of  God  within  us  had 
joined  us,  he  said  ;  man's  laws  and  conventions 
should  not  avail  to  sever  us." 

"  I  know  that  voice,  too,"  Hubert  cried,  lean- 
ing forward.  "  I  know  those  very  thoughts. 
They  are  mine,  mother,  mine  !  I  see  the  truth 
now.  He  must  have  been  my  father — that 
pure  great  soul,  not  the  wretched  drunkard. 
I  recognize  his  spirit  !  Am  I  his  son,  dear 
mother  ?" 

He  said  it  caressingly.  He  said  it  eagerly. 
He  said  it  as  one  asks  some  supreme  favor. 


i86  A  Splendid  Sin. 

Mrs.  Egremont  bowed  her  head,  and  dared 
not  look  him  in  the  face  as  her  lips  answered 
low,  "  How  shall  I  tell  you  the  truth  ?  You  are 
his  son,  Hubert  !  " 

"And  his  name?"  Hubert  cried,  pressing 
forward  breathlessly. 

"  I  can't  say  it  aloud,"  the  mother  replied, 
still  trembling  with  anxiety  ;  "  but — stoop 
down  here — closer — at  your  ear — I  will  whis- 
per it." 

She  whispered  one  word  in  his  ear.  Hubert 
started,  amazed.  It  was  indeed  a  great  name. 
"  What,  the  poet  ? "  he  cried,  gasping. 

His  mother  hung  her  head  with  a  gesture  of 
deprecation.     "Yes,  the  poet,"  she  answered. 

In  a  revulsion  of  pride  and  joy,  Hubert 
clasped  her  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  many 
times  ecstatically.  "  Thank  you,  mother,"  he 
said  simply.     "Thank  you  !  Thank  you  !  " 

"  Oh,  hush,  Hubert,"  the  mother  interposed. 
"  Suppose  any  one  were  to  hear  !  Don't 
thank  me  for  that  I  It  was  a  sin  they  say,  a 
very  great  sin—  and  bitterly  am  I  expiating  it." 

"It was  a  splendid  sin,"  Hubert  cried  cling- 
ing fondly  to  her  hand,  "  and  from  my  heart  I 
thank  you  for  it.  Such  sins  are  purer  far  than 
half  this  w^orld's  purity.  It  is  love — and  nat- 
ural fitness— not  the  woid  of  a  priest  or  a  law, 
that  sanctifies.  And  the  result  shows  it.  To 
be  that  great  soul's  son— not  the  loathsome 
drunkard's  ! " 


A  Great  Confession.  187 

*'  My  darling,"  Mrs.  Egremont  cried,  now 
weeping  bitterly  with  the  reaction  from  that 
moment  of  effort.  "  you  frighten  me  when  you 
say  so.  You  don't  know  what  pangs  and  re- 
morses it  has  given  me." 

**  It  need  have  given  you  none,"  Hubert  ex- 
claimed. '*  It  gave  you  them  only  because  you 
but  half  understood  him.  Your  lieart  told  you 
true.  Your  poet  was  right.  He  knew  what 
was  best.  You  have  given  me  a  noble  and  a 
glorious  father  ! " 

The  mother  clung  to  him  still.  "  Oh,  Hu- 
bert," she  cried,  "if  you  say  so,  my  boy,  I  am 
justified.  He  wanted  to  raise  up  a  son  like 
himself,  he  said.  He  wanted  to  raise  him  up 
by  the  woman  meant  for  him.  He  told  me  we 
two  were  meant  by  nature  for  one  another. 
But  I  doubted  it  still.  You  can't  think  what 
a  relief  it  is  to  me  now  to  have  told  you." 

**I  trust  the  truth,"  Hubert  answered  slowly. 
**  It  is  all  so  new  and  strange  ;  but " — and  he 
paused— "  this,  this  is  the  father  I  had  always 
dreamed  of." 

"  And  I  told  you  the  truth,"  Mrs.  Egremont 
added  wistfully.  "  I  told  you  the  truth,  as  far 
as  I  could  tell  it.  Far  more  than  you  thought. 
I  told  you  he  was  dead.  I  told  you  he  was  in- 
deed a  father  to  be  proud  of.  I  told  you  he 
had  many  great  and  splendid  qualities.  I  told 
you  half :  but  I  could  never  tell  you  how  great 
and  pure  he  was— my  love,  my  poet  I  " 


i88  A  Splendid  Sin. 

"  Does  my  uncle  know  ? "  Hubert  ventured, 
after  a  moment's  pause. 

*'  Not  a  soul  on  earth  but  myself  !  I  have 
hidden  it  in  my  heart — deep,  deep,  unspoken 
— ever  since  that  white  soul  died  ten  years  ago 
in  Florence.  But— I  loved  him — I  loved  him 
— oh,  Hubert,  how  I  loved  him  !  " 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  her  son  in 
the  face  now.  The  knowledge  of  his  approval 
had  taken  all  sense  of  false  shame  aw^ay  from 
her.  It  was  his  father's  face.  More  than 
ever,  she  saw  it  so. 

"  And  that  man — your  husband  ? "  Hubert 
asked.  "  The  man  to  whom  you  were  nobly  un- 
faithful.    Did  he  know  what  had  happened  ? " 

"  He  never  even  suspected  it,"  Mrs.  Egre- 
mont  answered.  "He  was  far  too  drunk  to 
know  or  to  trouble  himself  about  anything  that 
happened.  I  left  him  at  once  as  soon  as— as 
soon  as  I  was  sure  what  was  going  to  happen 
to  me  ;  as  soon  as  I  felt  a  new  life  within  me. 
And  yon  are  the  son  of  that  moment  of  pro- 
foundest  passion  ! " 

She  said  it  confidently  now  ;  she  said  it  al- 
most proudly.  She  saw,  she  felt  the  father  in 
the  son.  She  no  longer  shrank  from  him. 
"Then  all  is  easynow^,"  Hubert  cried.  "I  can 
marry  Fede." 

His  mother  flung  her  arms  round  him  in  a 
transport  of  joy.  "  I  thank  heaven  I  have  had 
the  courage  to  tell  you,"  she  whispered.    "  You 


A  Great  Confession.  189 

can  marry  Fede.  I  would  never  have  dared  to 
tell  it,  though,  my  darling,  if  I  had  not  over- 
heard what  you  said  the  other  night  in  this  very 
room  to  your  uncle.  I  have  thought  so  often 
since  of  those  glorious  words  you  quoted  from 
Meredith — *  The  real  sin  would  have  been  if  she 

and  I  had  met,  and '     They  comforted  me 

deeply.  So  too  did  your  own  comment  : 
*  There  are  positive  duties  in  life  as  wxll  as  neg- 
ative. If  it  is  a  duty  to  abstain  from  peopling 
the  world  with  the  unfit,  is  it  not  equally  a 
duty  to  do  what  we  can  towards  peopling  it 
with  the  fittest  ? '  "  And  she  looked  at  him 
proudly. 

There  was  another  long  pause.  Each  gazed 
on  each  with  profound  earnestness.  "And 
you  forgive  me  ? "  the  mother  asked  at  last, 
with  a  momentary  shrinking. 

**  Forgive  you  ?  Dear  mother,  I  have  noth- 
ing to  forgive  !  I  have  everything  to  thank 
3^ou  for.  You  took  care  to  ensure  me  a  splen- 
did birthright.  One  thing  alone  I  regret." 
He  gazed  at  her  wistfully.  "  I  shall  have  to 
bear  that  wretched  creature's  name  through 
life,"  he  said—"  instead  of  the  one  I  am  right- 
fully entitled  to." 

"  You  will,"  his  mother  said — "  for  my  sake. 
.  .  .     And  for  vours^  I  regret  it." 

"  So  do  I,"  Hubert  answered.  "  But  I  will 
bear  it  still,  for  your  sake  alone — not  for  fear 
of  th'j  base  lies  that  enslave  and  unman  us." 


190  A  Splendid  Sin. 

They  leaned  back  and  were  silent.  A  whiff 
of  tobacco  smoke  broke  suddenly  upon  their 
reverie.  Mother  and  son  looked  up  with  one 
accord.  Again  that  unspeakably  hateful  ap- 
parition !  Colonel  Egremont  was  standing  on 
the  balcony  by  the  open  window,  with  arms 
akimbo,  regarding  them  cynically. 


Colonel  Egremont  Sees  his  V/ay.      191 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

COLONEL   EGREMONT   SEES   HIS  WAY. 

He  had  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  but  he  with- 
drew it  jauntily. 

"  Forgive  this  persistence,"  he  said,  smiling. 
**  Family  feeling  !  Family  feeling !  Restitu- 
tion of  conjugal  rights  is  all  I  ask  for.  And — 
I've  ventured  to  take  it.  When  you  locked 
me  out  of  the  door,  my  dear  Julia,  with  such 
unnatural  cruelty — you  forgot  it  was  easy  for 
me  to  come  in  by  the  window." 

Mrs.  Egremont  seized  her  son's  arm.  "  Oh, 
Hubert,"  she  cried,  low,  *'  did  he  hear,  do  you 
think  ?     Did  he  hear  us  ? " 

**  I  don't  fancy  he  did,"  Hubert  answered, 
whispering.  "  And  if  he  did,  I  don't  care. 
He  is  a  drunken  lunatic,  or  next  door  to  it. 
Nobody  would  pay  the  slightest  heed  to  his 
chatter."  He  turned  to  the  wretched  creature. 
**  Leave  the  room,  sir,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
window  by  which  the  man  had  entered,  "or 
take  your  choice  of  being  thrown  out.  I  will 
permit  no  insolence." 

Colonel  Egremont  advanced  a  step.     "  Take 


192  A  Splendid  Sin. 

care,  young  man,"  he  cried.  '*  You  touch  me 
at  your  peril  !  " 

Hubert  was  just  about  to  seize  him,  when 
Mrs.  Egremont  intervened  with  an  imploring 
look.  "For  my  sake,  Hubert,  let  him  stop! 
We  can  answer  liim  now.  We  understand 
one  anotlier,  my  boy— you  and  I — and  we  have 
nothing  more  to  fear  from  him." 

The  Colonel  stepped  forward,  looking  about 
him  gingerly.  "  That  Italian  brigand's  gone  ?" 
he  said,  peering  round  the  chairs  as  if  in 
doubt.  "  Yes  ?  Then  here  we  are,  en  fa- 
inille  !    We  can  proceed  to  business  !  " 

Hubert  shuddered  at  his  breath.  "  He's 
drunk,  mother,"  he  said,  low.  "  He  reeks  of 
brandy." 

"  Well,  yes,"  the  Colonel  replied,  drawing 
himself  up  with  dignity,  and  squinting  through 
his  eyeglass,  *'  I  do  my  duty  in  the  matter  of 
brandy.  I  Hatter  myself,  I  am  the  chief  sup- 
port of  that  vast  industry." 

Then  for  the  first  time  it  began  to  dawn 
upon  Hubert  that  the  man's  bravado  was 
an  initial  stage  in  the  form  of  madness 
know^n  as  megalomania,  where  the  lunatic, 
at  first  humorously,  but  afterwards  seriously, 
exaggerates  to  a  gross  and  ludicrous  ex- 
tent the  importance  of  all  his  ow^n  pettiest 
actions. 

Mrs.  Egremont  laid  her  hand  on  her  son's 
arm  gently.     "  Don't  bandy  words  with  him, 


Colonel  Egremont  Sees  his  Way.     193 

Hubert,"  she  whispered.  "  Hear  him  out,  and 
have  done  with  him." 

"  Exactly  my  own  idea,"  the  Colonel  an- 
swered blandly.  "  Most  excellent  advice. 
Short  and  sweet  just  suits  me.  I  come  to  the 
point.  I'm  here  without  funds  ;  not  a  sou,  not 
a  rap,  not  a  doit,  not  a  stiver.  I'm  uncertain, 
I  admit,  as  to  the  precise  nature  and  value  of 
the  common  stiver  ;  but  I'm  sure  I  haven't  got 
one.  So  what  I  want  to  know  is  simply  this, 
Julia.  Are  you  or  are  you  not  going  to  find 
that  two  hundred  pounds  for  me,  and  to  in- 
crease the  miserable  pittance  you  allow  me  to  a 
thousand  a  year  ? "  He  assumed  once  more 
his  mock-pathetic  air.  "  Must  I  ask  you  twice 
about  it  ? " 

The  touch  of  humor  about  the  man,  the 
comicality  of  his  appeals,  the  very  cleverness 
of  his  talk,  increased  his  loathsomeness.  He 
would  have  been  a  trifle  less  repulsive  wxre  it 
not  for  his  good-humor.  His  horrid  uncon- 
sciousness of  his  own  utter  degradation  made 
Hubert  recoil  from  him.  "  Don't  answer  him, 
mother,"  the  young  man  said,  appealing  to 
her.  '*  On  what  ground  does  he  ask  for  it  ? 
Why  should  he  not  earn  his  own  bread  like 
other  people  ? " 

"  God  bless  my  soul,"  Colonel  Egremont 
cried,  *'  what  else  did  I  marry  her  for  ?  Is  sh^ 
to  gain  the  privilege  of  having  me  as  her  hus- 
band, and  bearing  the  honored  name  of  Egre- 


194  A  Splendid  Sin. 

mont — one  of  the  best  in  Lancashire — all  for 
nothing?  No,  no,  young  fellow,  I  shall  have 
my  rights,  I  tell  you.  She  had  a  tidy  little 
fortune  of  her  own  when  I  married  her." 

"  Most  of  which  you've  long  ago  squandered," 
Mrs.  Egrcmont  said,  interposing. 

The  Colonel  poised  himself  blandly. 
"Well,  I've  done  my  best,  I  acknowledge,"  he 
said,  *'  to  prevent  you  from  wasting  it  on  your 
own  selfish  pleasures.  Tve  used  it  royally. 
Did  you  ever  know  me  pander  for  a  moment 
to  the  better  elements  of  my  nature,  Julia  ? 
Still,  we  shared  and  shared  alike  in  both  our 
fortunes ;  so  thafs  all  even.  With  all  my 
worldly  goods  I  thee  endowed — fourteen  pence 
in  the  pound  to  compound  with  my  creditors 
— and  you  made  up  the  deficit." 

**  Promise  him  anything,  Hubert,"  Mrs. 
Egremont  cried,  with  a  sudden  rush  of  dis- 
gust ;  *'  only,  get  rid  of  him  instantly." 

*'  I  will  promise  him  nothing,  mother,"  Hu- 
bert answered  sternly,  "  and  I  earnestly  hope 
you  will  not  either. — Leave  the  room,  sir,  this 
moment,  or  I  shall  ring  for  the  servants  of  the 
hotel  to  remove  you." 

The  Colonel  struck  a  mock-tragic  attitude. 
"Then  3^our  sentence  is  for  open  war?"  he 
said  rhetorically. 

"My  sentence  is  for  open  war,"  Hubert 
answered,  with  a  contemptuous  dash  of  the 
hand.     "  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  you.     You 


Colonel  Egremont  Sees  his  Way.     195 

may  try  your  worst.  Anything  rather  than 
continue  to  disgrace  my  mother's  rooms  with 
your  disgusting  presence." 

"  That's  pretty  hot,"  the  Colonel  ejaculated, 
wiping  his  brow  with  the  back  of  his  hand, 
and  gazing  round  the  room  for  some  imaginary 
spectator.  "  Well,  war  let  it  be,  then  ;  I'm  an 
old  campaigner.  But  I  won't  begin  operations 
without  all  due  formalities.  If  we  must  be 
belligerents,  I  give  you  due  notice,  I  mean 
henceforth  to  act  upon  the  offensive.  No  more 
skulking  about  upon  the  Continent  for  me  !  I 
shall  carry  the  war  into  the  enemy's  country. 
When  next  we  meet,  we  meet  at  Mil  worth  ! " 

"  I  accept  your  challenge,"  Hubert  answered. 
"I  am  not  afraid  of  you." 

The  Colonel  advanced  yet  a  step.  **  And 
mind  you,  Julia,"  he  said,  "  w^hen  I  come  to 
Milworth,  I  come  to  stay.  I  shall  institute  an 
action  for  Restitution  of  Conjugal  Rights.  By 
George,  I  mean  it.  You  shall  receive  me  again 
as  your  lawful  husband." 

"  You  dare  not  show  your  face  in  England," 
Mrs.  Egremont  cried,  flushing.  "You  know 
you  dare  not  !  That  bill  of  exchange — and 
those  cheques  of  General  Walker's  ! " 

The  Colonel  smiled  calmly.  "  Blown  over !  " 
he  said,  with  a  wave  of  one  hand.  "  Blown  over, 
long  ago  !  I'm  game  to  try,  anyhow.  There 
was  only  one  man  left  alive  in  England  whose 
evidence  against  me  would  have  been  worth 


i<)f>  A  Splcinliil  Sin. 

twoprtuc—t hat's  W'alkiM'  ;  .nid  il  \\\,\y  iiHrrrst 
you  lo  know  thai  I  saw  his  iKath  in  thr  TiniiS 
at  laiv^antv' 

Ho  plavoil  that  trump  v  aid  with  an  ins(»K'ni 
snulo.  1  \v  havl  ^  onir  th(  re,  \\\  lavt,  in  laii^c  part 
to  plav  it.  Mrs.  Mi^riMuont  shrank  ironi  hnn. 
"  Hul     tho  othc  I  thin>;s  ?  "  she  saiil,  hesitatnii;. 

The  (.'olonel  kuiy;hc(l.  "  ( )h,  no,"  hr  answered 
quietly.  "  I'he  pubhe  proseentt^r  isn't  K<'hij.$ 
to  rako  up  oKI  seandals  hke  that  at  this  time 
of  day  just  {o  gratily  yon,  my  dear.  He's  had 
more  than  en(mv;h  o\  them.  The  authorities 
prefer  to  keep  those  thin);s  (]niet.  Anyhow, 
I'll  risk  it.  You  shall  see  me  baek  at  Milwoith 
before  Umij;,  dear  Juha.  '  And  he  kissed  his 
hand  to  her. 

Hubert  eould  standi  it  no  h^Ui^er.  He  ad- 
vanced and  l.ndhis  h.md  on  the  old  seoundrel's 
shoulder.  **  Von  have  said  enoui;h,"  he  mur- 
nuned.  in  a  very  low  voice.  '*  Now,  .c;o  !  W'c 
know  your  intentions.  In  my  mother's  name 
I  tell  vou  plainlv,  von  shall  not  have  one 
penny  now,  nor  one  penny  ever  if  you  come  to 
Mil  worth."  And  he  pushed  him  backwards 
forcibly  towards  the  balconv. 

-  Hullo  :  What's  this  ?  ""  the  Colonel  cried, 
fairly  surprised  that  Hubert  should  actually 
lay  hands  on  him.  "  You're  my  son,  young 
man,  remember.  Will  vou  assault  vour 
father  ? " 

'*  Your  son  I  "  Hubert  cried,  hardly  able  to 


Coloiiil    lO^tcinniil    Sees  liin  Way.       i*)7 

r<Mil;im  himsrll.  "  )'<'///'  son  !  "  And  he  K'lvo 
,u\  nnplotiiiK  look  low.nds  liis  inotiK  r. 

Mrs.  PiKit^'Minnl's  (,i(  (•  was  slill  (InslK d  wilh 
Ihc  joy  and  piidr  and  shame  <»1  lici  i  nnlcssmn 
lo  her  hoy.  She  i  (luhl  nnl  I(M>|<  al  Ihal  \vi(  h  hcd 
sol  who  had  oikc  hccn  hci  hnshand  wilhont 
the  prohunKh'sl  loalhni^.  Shonid  he  <  all  lln< 
hei  1  his  son  ?  I  Icr  whole  sotd  revolled  fKMn  il. 
She  rose  np  and  laicd  hnn  wilh  a  snddiii 
Ircninloiis  rcsolnlion.  "  lie  is  no/  yonr  son," 
shr  eiied,  llini;inK  Hh;  words  delianlly  in  Ihc 
old  man's  fare.  "  I  Ic  is  the  son  of  len  Ihonsand 
limes  a  nobler  and  heller  man  Ihan  y(Mi  arc." 

Ilnherl  lei  his  hand  f;ill.  "  Now  yon  know 
Ihe  whole  Irnlh,"  he  s;iid  calmly,  iS,'d/A\]^  fnll  at 
Colonel  10)4remonl. 

The  molher  sank  haik  on  Ihe  sofa  in  a  sud- 
den revnision  of  alarm  and  lerror.  Whal  had 
she  done  ?  Whal  had  she  done?  What  was 
this  she  had  said  in  the  impnisc  of  a  moment  ? 
lie  mij^ht  pnhlish  it  to  the  world  ;  he  might 
shame  her  ;  he  might  rnin  her  ! 

l^ut  C(;l()nel  lOgreinont  drew  back,  trying  to 
take  it  all  in  vvitli  that  drnnkcn  head  of  his. 
*'  Not  my  son  !  "  he  muttered  slowly.  "  Ten 
thousand  times  a  nobler  and  better  man  than 
I  am  !  "  Then  he  burst  of  a  sudden  into  a  loud, 
harsh  kmgh.  "  So  Ihdt's  how  things  lie,  is  it  ? " 
he  cried,  steadying  himself  by  the  lintel  of  the 
window.  **  I  sec  it  all  now.  So  you  choose 
to  play  my  game  !     Well  lant  niieux  pour  nioi ! 


198  A  Splendid  Sin. 

I  had  an  inkling  of  this  before.  I  half  suspected 
as  much  that  last  winter  at  Venice  !  " 

Mrs.  Egremont  cowered  in  her  place,  now 
overcome  with  remorse.  The  mad  impulse  of 
a  moment  had  thrown  away  everything. 

The  Colonel  let  his  eyeglass  drop,  gazed  hard 
at  her,  and  spoke  very  slowly.  "  I  think  I 
could  put  a  name  to  it,"  he  said  at  last.  And 
he  glanced  aside  at  the  photograph. 

Mrs.  Egremont  clasped  her  hands  and  fol- 
lowed his  eyes  silently. 

**You  w^ere  always  hanging  about  with  him 
in  a  gondola,"  the  husband  went  on.  "  I  won- 
der it  didn't  occur  to  me.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ;  what 
a  stroke  of  luck  !  "  He  turned  to  Hubert. 
**  I  don't  know  whether  you're  aware  of  it  or 
not,  young  man,"  he  said  ;  *'  but— this  exceed- 
ingly frank  confession  disinherits  you.  If  you're 
not  my  son,  you  have  no  claim  to  Milworth. 
By  your  grandfather's  will,  and  the  marriage 
settlements,  it's  your  mother's  for  life  ;  but, 
after  her,  it  goes  to  the  children  of  the  mar- 
riage." 

*•  And  I  am  proud  to  say,"  Hubert  an- 
swered, *'  that  I  am  not  a  child  of  the  mar- 
riage." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  very  fine  now,"  the  Colonel 
continued,  swelling  visibly  with  pride  ;  "  but 
you've  got  to  remember,  the  property's  entailed 
on  the  children  of  the  marriage — with  remain- 
der to  me,  if  there  are  no  children,  to  dispose 


Colonel  Egrcmont  Sees  his  Way.     199 

of  as  I  like,  without  any  restriction.  Aha, 
young  fellow,  there  I  have  you  on  tlie  hip  ! 
So  you'd  better  just  compromise.  I'm  prepared 
to  negotiate."  He  struck  a  judicial  attitude. 
"  If  you  can't  confine  your  skeleton  to  its  na- 
tive cupboard,"  he  said,  with  emphasis,  "  the 
next  best  thing  is  to  dress  it  up  smart,  and 
walk  out  in  the  Park  with  it,  arm  in  arm  to- 
gether, as  if  you  loved  it.  My  proposal  is — 
I  come  back  to  Mllworth." 

"  What  he  says  is  true,  Hubert,"  Mrs.  Egrc- 
mont murmured  low.  "  He  can  will  the  estate 
away  from  you." 

"  It  seems  strange,"  Hubert  answered, 
amazed,  *'  that  a  man  can't  inherit  his  own 
mother's  property." 

"  But  in  law,"  the  Colonel  cried,  catching  a 
murmur  of  the  words,  *'  an  illegitimate  son  is 
not  related  to  his  own  mother  ;  and  we  know 
from  Blackstone  that  the  law  is  the  perfection 
of  wisdom  !  " 

Hubert  advanced  towards  him  once  more. 
"  This  time  you  must  go,"  he  said  firmly.  "  I 
will  have  no  shilly-shallying.  We  are  not 
afraid  of  you.  You  may  do  your  worst.  But 
recollect  this— if  you  come  to  England,  you 
shall  never  receive  one  penny  further." 

He  made  a  threatening  move  forward.  The 
Colonel,  having  gained  all  he  wanted  for  the 
moment,  retreated  strategically  before  him. 
**  Well,  good  morning,  Julia,"  he  said,  with  a 


200  A  Splendid  Sin. 

deep  mock  bow.  '*  We  shall  meet  at  Philippi 
~I  mean  to  say,  Milworth." 

And  he  retired  by  the  balcony  with  pre- 
tended ceremoniousness. 

She  had  given  herself  away.  She  had  given 
him  Milworth. 


And  Fede  ?  201 


CHAPTER  XV. 

AND    FEDE  ? 

Mrs.  Egremont  sank  back  on  the  sofa  once 
more,  terrified.  "Oh,  what  have  I  done?" 
she  cried,  clasping  her  hands.  "  What  have 
I  done  ?     My  poor  boy,  I  have  ruined  you  ! " 

Hubert  smoothed  her  hair  once  more  with 
his  hand.  "  Dear  mother,"  he  answered,  "  you 
have  done  nothing  at  all.  What  is  Milworth 
to  me,  compared  to  the  relief  of  knowing  after 
all  I  am  a  great  man's  son — not  that  besotted 
creature's  ?  Even  if  Mihvorth  were  lost,  I  am 
young,  and  strong,  and  a  Fellow  of  my  college  ; 
I  am  far  better  off  than  nine  men  out  of  ten 
who  were  with  me  at  Oxford.  I  could  earn 
enough  for  myself,  and  for  you  and  Fede. 
But  Milworth  will  not  go.  He  cannot  take  it. 
My  grandfather  meant  it  should  be  yours  and 
your  children's  ;  the  silly  phrase  about  "  issue 
of  her  body,  lawfully  begotten,"  is  a  mere 
verbal  trick  and  catchword  of  the  lawyers. 
Suppose  even  he  tries  to  prove  his  point— what 
evidence  has  he  for  the  matter  but  your  word  ? 
What  corroboration,  what  witnesses  ?     If  he 


202  A  Splendid  Sin. 

goes  about  talking  after  so  long  a  lapse  of  time, 
nobody  will  believe  him.  He  may  talk  till 
he  dies,  and  the  whole  world  will  laugh  at 
him.  But  he  will  not  talk.  His  very  insanity 
will  urge  him  to  secretiveness." 

Mrs.  Egremont  wrung  her  hands.  "  Oh, 
why  did  I  tell  him  ? "  she  cried,  in  her  reac- 
tion.    '*  Why  did  I  tell  him  ?  " 

"  If  yoii  had  not  told  him,  I  think  /  should 
have  been  forced  to  tell,"  Hubert  answered 
calmly.  "  I  could  not  stand  his  vile  insinua- 
tion that  I  was  born  of  such  a  father  as  he  is. 
Now  I  know  the  truth,  that  imputation  shocks 
me.  Dear  mother,  you  immensely  exaggerate 
the  importance  of  his  threats.  He  could  only 
take  action  after  your  death,  and  in  case  he 
survived  you.  But  he  will  not  survive  you. 
If  only  you  knew  the  man's  state  as  well  as  I 
do  !  He's  nore  than  half  delirious  mad 
already,  and  the  slightest  extra  strain  will 
drive  him  into  an  asylum.  There  he'll  die 
within  six  months — and  nobody  will  believe 
him." 

''  But  meanwhile,  meanwhile  ?  "  Mrs.  Egre- 
mont said  faintly. 

"There  is  no  meanwhile,"  Hubert  answered. 
**  He  is  on  the  very  verge  of  a  nervous  break- 
down. If  he  were  to  try  any  large  issue,  the 
shock  and  excitement  would  kill  him  instantly. 
I  handled  him  gently  just  now,  because,  to 
say  the  truth,  I  was  afraid  of  killing  him.     For 


And  Fede  ?  203 

your  sake,  I  didn't  wish  him  to  die  before  your 
eyes.  His  heart  is  all  gone  to  pieces.  You 
need  not  be  afraid  of  him.  Now,  the  next 
thing  is,  I  must  explain  this  to  Fede.'* 

'*  Explain  this  to  Fede  ? "  Mrs.  Egremont 
cried,  drawing  back.     "  Oh,  Hubert,  never  !  " 

"  I  must  break  it  to  her  somehow,  dearest 
mother,"  Hubert  said,  leaning  over  her  tenderly. 
"  But  you  need  not  be  afraid  of  her.  I  feel 
sure  we  can  trust  her.  You  see,  I  must 
account  somehow  for  this  change  of  front. 
Only  an  hour  ago,  I  told  her  I  could  never, 
never  marry  her.  Now,  after  what  I  have 
learned — that  I  am  the  inheritor  of  a  great 
man's  noble  qualities — of  course  I  need  no 
longer  hesitate  to  take  her.  And  I  must  give 
sowe  reason  for  my  altered  attitude." 

Mrs.  Egremont  clung  to  him.  "But,  Hubert," 
she  cried  passionately,  overcome  with  false 
shame,  *'  do  you  think  it  is  necessary  ?  Oh, 
darling,  wait  at  least.  Take  time,  take  time  to 
reflect  and  consider.  Don't  act  precipitately. 
How  do  we  know  what  a  young  girl  like  that 
may  choose  to  think  of  it  ?  It  was  different 
with  you,  darling.  For  one  thing,  you  are  my 
son  ;  for  another  thing,  you  are  a  man  ;  for  a 
third,  you  are  a  philosopher,  a  thinker,  a 
reasoner.  But — a  pure  young  girl  like  that  ! 
Suppose,  when  she  hears,  she  were  to  hate  and 
despise  me  ?" 

Hubert  kissed  away  her  tears,    "  No,  mother," 


204  A  Splendid  Sin. 

he  said,  '*  no ;  now  is  the  moment  to  act.  Now 
is  tlie  time  to  tell  her.  She  is  waiting  anxiously 
in  your  room  to  know  what  all  this  means. 
She  will  willingly  embrace  any  explanation 
that  makes  it  possible  for  me  to  marry  her. 
Besides,  I  feel  sure  I  can  depend  upon  Fede. 
I  have  faith  in  her  faithfulness.  She  is  Italian, 
you  know,  and  she  understands  passion  quite 
otherwise  than  our  English  girls.  She  is 
Oxford-bred,  again,  and  she  understands  reason 
more  than  most  other  women.  She  will  take 
the  story  in  its  true  light  ;  she  will,  I  know — 
for  she  has  seen  your  husband  !  " 

He  rose  to  call  Fede.  Mrs.  Egremont  still 
clung  to  him.  "  But  her  father  must  know 
too,"  she  cried  ;  "  and,  oh,  Hubert,  I  could 
never  bear  that  !     Any  talk  of  it  would  kill  me." 

Hubert  disentwined  her  clinging  arms  gently. 
"  He  need  not  know,"  he  answered.  "  His 
point  of  view  is  so  different.  It  will  be 
necessary  to  say  no  more  to  her  father  than 
that,  on  second  thoughts,  I  find  my  difficulties 
altogether  removed,  and  that  no  sufficient 
obstacle  prevents  my  marrying  Fede.  That 
will  satisfy  the  Marchese.  It  is  all  he  asks  of 
me.  The  property  is  his  aim.  To  him,  this 
is  merely  a  matter  of  business."  He  unwound 
the  clasping  arms  with  difficulty,  and  moved 
over  to  the  door.  "  Fede,"  he  called  out, 
opening  it,  *'  Fede  ! " 

By  the  very  sound  of  his  voice,  the  poor 


And  Fede  ?  205 

girl  recognized  at  once  that  all  was  well,  and 
entered  the  room  radiant.  "  Yes,  darling," 
she  cried,  rushing  up  to  him. 

"  Fede,"  Hubert  said,  in  a  very  slow  voice, 
**  it  is  all  a  mistake,  dearest.  That  wretched 
creature  is  not  my  father.  I  can  marry  you 
after  all.     He  is  nothing  to  me— nothing." 

Fede  flung  herself  into  his  arms,  and  burst 
into  a  little  flood  of  hysterical  tears.  "  I  told 
you  so,"  she  cried.  "  I  told  you  so,  dearest. 
I  was  sure  of  it  all  along.  I  knew  it,  Hubert. 
My  name  was  justified.  I  had  faith  in  you — 
faith  !  My  heart  against  3^our  brain  !  My 
instinct  against  your  science  !  " 

She  lay  in  his  arms  for  a  moment,  indulging 
her  love.  Then  she  withdrew  with  reluctance, 
and  turned  to  Mrs.  Egremont.  The  two 
women  stood  there,  trembling,  and  faced  each 
other.  Mrs.  Egremont's  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  floor.  Fede  half  understood  what  was 
next  to  follow. 

She  glanced  across  tenderly  at  her  future 
husband's  mother.  "  Then  he  was  an  impostor 
after  all,"  she  said,  in  her  gentle  voice.  "  It 
was  true  what  Hubert  said.  His  own  father 
died  —  years  ago  —  did  he  not?  And  this 
man "  she  faltered. 

Mrs.  Egremont  raised  her  eyes  and  fixed 
them  steadily,  with  an  effort,  on  the  young 
girl's  face.  "  Dear  Hubert's  father  died,"  she 
said,  hesitating,  "  ten  years  ago— at  Florence." 


2o6  A  Splendid  Sin. 

"And  this  wretched  creature  is  not  your 
husband  ?  "  Fede  put  in,  with  a  deep  flush. 

Hubert  looked  at  her  earnestly.  His  face 
was  grave.  "  This  wretched  creature  is  my 
mother's  husband,"  he  said  in  plain  words, 
"  but  not  my  father.  As  you  are  to  marry  me, 
darling,  it  is  well  you  should  know  it.  You  had 
faith  in  me,  Fede  :  I  have  faith  in  you."  And 
he  gazed  into  her  eyes  with  deep  intentness. 

Fede  drew  back,  and  caught  her  breath 
suddenly. 

Mrs.  Egremont  fell  away  in  turn,  and  fixed 
her  gaze  on  the  girl,  terrified.  "  Oh,  Fede," 
she  cried,  "  I  have  shocked  you.  Do  you  un- 
derstand now  ?  Can  you — can  you  ever  again 
speak  to  me  ?  " 

"Wait !  "  Hubert  cried.  "  Let  me  tell  her 
all.  She  must  know  the  whole  truth."  He 
pointed  to  the  photograph.  "  That  v^as  my 
father,  Fede,"  he  said,  with  deep  pride.  "The 
poet,  your  father's  friend,  whom  you  saw,  you 
told  me,  as  a  child,  in  Florence  !  " 

Still  Fede  stood  blushing.  "  My  child,  my 
child,"  Mrs.  Egremont  cried,  unable  to  endure 
the  suspense  any  longer,  "  if  you  hate  me  for 
it,  tell  me  so  ! " 

Fede  turned  to  her  in  amaze.  "  Could  I 
wish  our  Hubert  to  be  that  other  man's  son  ? " 
she  answered,  wondering. 

Mrs.  Egremont  stretched  out  wild  arms  of 
passionate  yearning  towards  her.     "  Then  you 


And  Fede  ?  207 

won't  renounce   me,  Fede?"  she  cried,  gasp- 
ing. 

The  girl  rushed  into  her  embrace  and 
covered  her  with  hot  kisses.  "  Mother,  dear 
mother,"  she  cried,  using  that  sacred  name 
naturally,  **  I  love  you,  I  love  you  !  How 
sweet  of  you  to  trust  me  !  I  loved  you  from 
the  very  first  moment  I  saw  you.  I  love  you 
now  ten  times  better  than  ever."  And  she 
clung  to  her  in  an  ecstasy. 

"  I  thanked  her  for  giving  me  such  a  father," 
Hubert  whispered  in  her  ear.  "  Do  you  thank 
her,  Fede?" 

Fede  clasped  her  to  her  breast.  "  I  thank 
you,  dearest,"  she  murmured,  and  laid  her 
hand  trustfully  on  the  elder  woman's  shoulder. 
"  You  have  done  more  for  me  than  that.  You 
have  given  me  Hubert." 


■y,  I 


2o8  A  Splendid  Sin. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE   colonel's   PLANS. 

The  Marchese,  as  Hubert  had  justly  antici- 
pated, asked  for  his  part  no  awkward  ques- 
tions. He  was  a  man  of  the  world,  of  the 
Italian  pattern  ;  his  tolerance  was  broad.  So 
long  as  Hubert  announced  his  intention  of 
marrying  Fede,  and  salved  the  slight  to  the 
honor  of  the  Tornabuoni,  he  felt  little  inclined 
to  stir  up  unpleasant  bygones.  He  made  no 
comment  upon  Hubert's  volte-face.  To  let 
sleeping  dogs  lie  was  the  wisdom  of  his  philos- 
ophy. So  he  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders 
in  his  lazy,  easy-going,  Florentine  way,  and 
remarked  that,  provided  only  the  Property  was 
safe,  it  was  no  part  of  a  prudent  father's  busi- 
ness to  inquire  by  w^hat  curious  process  of 
logic  Hubert  had  come  to  accept  a  situation 
which  one  hour  before  he  had  declared  un- 
tenable. "  Droll  people  these  English,  Fede," 
he  said,  between  the  puffs  of  a  cigarette. 
**  My  mother  was  English  ;  my  wife  was  Eng- 
lish ;  my  daughter  is  English  ;  yet  hang  me  if 
after  fifty  years  of  knowing  them,  I  understand 


The  Colonel's  Plans.  209 

their  point  of  view  any  better  than  I  did  when 
I  was  a  lad  of  twenty."  Nevertheless,  though 
he  said  it  not,  he  had  his  suspicions  of  the 
grounds  of  action. 

So  everybody  was  satisfied— except  the 
Colonel. 

Nay,  the  Colonel  himself  strolled  away  from 
that  singular  interview  with  a  pleasing  sense 
that  things  were  turning  out  for  him  better  than 
he  anticipated.  "  Even  you  must  feel,"  Hubert 
said  to  him,  as  he  disappeared  through  the 
window,  "that  no  good  purpose  can  now  be 
served  by  prolonging  any  further  this  painful 
situation.  It  is  unhappy  for  us,  and  humiliat- 
ing for  you — if  anything  can  humiliate  you." 

The  Colonel  slunk  off,  ruminating  on  those 
words.  He  held  his  head  high,  however,  as 
was  the  wont  of  his  mania.  "Oh,  pray  don't 
mention  it,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  in  his  man- 
of-the-world  way,  as  he  strolled  along  the 
balcony.  "  Happy  to  go,  I'm  sure.  Never 
desire  to  intrude  where  the  pleasure  of  my  com- 
pany is  not  appreciated.  Sorry  I  disturbed 
the  tranquillity  of  this  charming  wedding  party. 
They're  at  it  already  among  themselves,  by  all 
that  I  can  see — quarreling  like  cats  and  dogs 
with  one  another  over  the  plunder — my 
plunder !  Very  unprincipled  lot.  Not  dis- 
pleased to  be  rid  of  them.  Best  intentions  in 
the  w^orld,  I'm  sure  ;  only  wanted  to  give  them 
my  paternal  blessing— cheap  at  two  hundred, 
14 


210  A  Splendid  Sin. 

ami  a  moderate  allowance.  But  if  people  re- 
fuse to  receive  the  visits  of  their  own  husbands 
and  fathers  in  an  amicable  spirit,  why,  hang  it 
all,  they  can't  be  astonished  at  a  little  un- 
pleasantness. Not  my  son  after  all.  There's 
a  stroke  of  luck  for  you  !  If  he  were,  Julia 
could  do  what  she  liked  about  the  money. 
But  now  I've  got  a  hold  over  her.  I  can  dis- 
inherit her  boy.  If  only  I  outlive  her."  He 
paused  on  the  stairs  and  reflected.  His  feet 
were  unsteady.  "It's  this  beastly  creeping 
paralysis,"  he  thought,  '*  that  spoils  all.  I've 
got  to  outlive  Julia.  Tough,  tough,  unhappily  ! 
It  takes  such  a  lot  to  kill  a  woman.  Curious 
what  a  difference  it  makes  to  one,  too,  when 
you've  a  fortune  in  prospect.  Till  this  minute 
it  never  mattered  to  me  whether  I  died  to- 
morrow or  not,  so  long  as  I  had  brandy  enough 
in  bottle  for  to-night  to  make  me  decently  com- 
fortable. But  now,  I  must  live  to  oust  that 
boy  of  hers." 

He  hobbled  down-stairs  in  his  uncertain  way 
to  a  seat  in  the  garden.  There,  poising  him- 
self as  best  he  might,  he  began  to  think  it  out 
as  clearly  as  he  could — without  the  aid  of  a 
brandy  and  soda.  It  was  very  hard  work,  for 
he  was  unused  to  thinking ;  and  on  the  rare 
occasions  when  he  did  think  at  all,  he  assisted 
nature  with  aids  to  thought  in  the  shape  of 
alcohol.  To-day,  however,  he  could  get  no 
brandy,  for  he  had  reached  his  last  sou,  and 


The  Colonel's  Plans.  2n 

tile  hotel  would  not  trust  him.  So  he  sat  and 
ruminated  in  a  puzzle-headed  way,  whieh  only 
resulted  at  first  in  a  vague  phantasmagoria  of 
wild  possibilities.  As  his  head  eleared,  how- 
ever, and  the  world  eame  back  to  him,  he 
began  to  form  plans.  '*  I  shall  go  to  Ivondon," 
he  said  to  himself,  "  if  I  can  get  the  money. 
I've  not  been  in  London  for  more  than  twenty 
years.  Absurd  that  an  officer  and  a  gentleman 
in  uiy  position  should  be  debarred  from  visit- 
ing his  own  club  in  Pall  JMall,  for  fear  of  being 
cut  short  of  money  by  his  wife,  who  doles  him 
out  a  pittance  as  if  he  were  a  schoolboy.  I've 
stood  it  too  long.     I'll  stand  it  no  longer." 

He  paused  and  mused,  drawing  hgures  in 
the  gravel  with  his  cane  as  he  thought.  "  I 
shall  try  her  by  three  roads,"  he  said  to  himself 
once  more.  **  I'll  instruct  my  solicitor— have 
I  got  a  solicitor  ?  Never  mind,  I'll  instruct  a 
solicitor — some  solicitor — any  solicitor — all 
rogues  alike,  solicitors — to  enter  three  separate 
actions  against  her.  One  shall  be  for  Restitu- 
tion of  Conjugal  Rights."  He  rolled  it  on  his 
tongue.  "  That'll  frighten  her.  One  shall  be 
for  divorce.  That'll  touch  her  reputation.  One 
shall  be  for  declaring  this  boy  of  hers  illegiti- 
mate. "  That'll  threaten  the  money.  I  have 
her  there  on  the  horns  of  a  trilemma.  Good 
word,  trilemma  !  Never  heard  of  it  before — 
suppose  I  invented  it.  What  an  inventive 
genius  I  have,  to  be  sure  !     But  anyhow,  I've 


212  A  Splendid  Sin. 

got  her  on  one.  //  I  fail  in  the  divorce,  I 
score  off  restitution  ;  if  I  draw  restitution  blank, 
I  win  on  illegitimacy.  Avery  i-retty  trilemma 
— heads,  I  win  ;  tails,  Julia  loses  ;  and  edge- 
ways, the  boy  has  to  go  from  Milworth.  I 
wonder  whether  a  trilemma  has  three  horns  ? 
and,  if  so,  whether  they  go  all  three  abreast  ; 
or,  like  the  arms  of  Sicily  and  the  Isle  of  Man, 
which  are  not  arms  at  all,  but  really  legs,  turn- 
ing round  and  round  as  if  they  were  a  bicycle 
wheel,  with  perpetual  motion,  and  always  kick- 
ing. I  fancy  the  Isle  of  Man  must  be  a  most 
unpleasant  antagonist.  It  kicks  you  circularly. 
Well,  Fm  just  like  that.  Whichever  w^ay  I 
fall,  I  shall  have  tw^o  good  legs  firmly  fixed  on 
the  ground,  and  one  up  to  kick  with  !  "  And 
he  hugged  himself  at  the  prospect. 

A  single  petty  obstacle  alone  blocked  his 
way — the  temporary  tightness  of  the  money 
market.  He  was  reduced  by  this  time  to  one 
or  two  nickel  sous  of  the  Swiss  Republic — 
w^hich  is  an  insufficient  provision  for  a  journey 
to  London  and  three  expensive  lawsuits.  On 
this  question  of  ways  and  means,  therefore,  the 
Colonel  ruminated  long.  "  One  should  always 
be  a  gentleman,"  he  said  to  himself,  reflectively, 
*'  and  I've  always  been  a  gentleman.  How 
does  a  gentleman  behave  when  he  finds  him- 
self, accidentally,  hard  up  at  an  inn,  through 
the  remissness  of  his  family  ? — what  somebody 
calls  their  unremitting  kindness  ?    V/hy,  he 


The  Colonel's  Plans.  213 

explains  to  the  landlord,  and  borrows  a  trifling 
sum  for  current  expenses.  77/  explain  to  the 
landlord.  And  I'll  borrow  a  trifling  sum— that 
is  to  say,  if  he'll  lend  it  me." 

He  rose  from  the  garden  seat  and  moved 
towards  the  steps.  "  Concierge  !  "  he  caUed 
out  with  ridiculous  dignity. 

"  Monsieur  ?"  the  concierge  said,  raising  his 
head  without  quitting  his  box  for  the  shabby 
visitor. 

"  I  desire  to  speak  with  the  proprietor," 
Colonel  Egremont  went  on,  with  aristocratic 
hauteur. 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  the  concierge  answered, 
and  went  in  search  of  him. 

The  proprietor  came  out  with  that  singular 
mixture  of  deference  and  rudeness  which  pro- 
prietors of  hotels  keep  specially  laid  on  for 
undesirable  guests.  "  Monsieur  ?  "  he  said 
blandly. 

The  Colonel  drew  himself  up,  and  played 
his  best  card  first.  '*  I'm  a  disreputable  old 
party  for  a  hotel  like  this,"  he  observed  insin- 
uatingly. ".V  iHiuricn.  A  hiinimeln.  Is  it 
not  so,  Herr  Proprietor  ? " 

The  proprietor  bowed.  '*  Monsieur  f>lai- 
sante^"  he  murmured,  rubbing  his  hands  du- 
biously. 

**  Not  at  all,"  the  Colonel  replied,  glancing 
down  at  his  shabby  coat.  "  Honor  bright,  I 
mean  it.     I'm  no  recommendation,  no  recom- 


214  A  Splendid  Sin. 

mendation  at  all  to  the  place,  and  the  other 
guests  hate  me." 

The  proprietor  nodded,  unwilling  to  ac- 
quiesce in  this  too  true  statement,  and,  in  his 
own  pet  phrase  awaited  developments. 

*'  It  would  pay  you  to  get  rid  of  me,"  the 
Colonel  continued,  wath  an  insinuating  smile. 
"  I  have  been  here  two  days  ;  I  have  paid  a  la 
carte  beforehand  ;  and  I  owe  no  man  any- 
thing. But  my  cash  in  hand  is  reduced  to 
that— I  assure  you,  to  that."  He  opened  his 
closed  palm  and  displayed  the  two  paltry  little 
shining  nickels.  '*  A  ridiculous  sum  for  a 
man  who  has  held  her  Britannic  Majesty's 
commission,"  he  said  ;  "  but  true  nevertheless. 
Inadequate,  isn't  it  ? " 

The  Colonel  gazed  at  them  comically.  The 
proprietor  bowed  again.  "  And  you  suggest  ? " 
he  said  with  ironical  politeness. 

The  Colonel  resumed  his  grandiloquent 
manner.  "  I  desire,"  he  went  on,  **  to  return 
at  once  to  Lugano  and  Florence.  I  have 
friends  in  each  town — friends,  important 
friends — and  money.  I  came  here  expecting 
to  receive  some  little  remittance  from  my 
family,  who  are  in  Number  Twenty.  But  my 
family  are  recalcitrant.  You  have  a  wife  your- 
self, Monsieur  le  proprietaire ;  you  know  that 
sex  ;  you  can  doubtless  sympathize  with  me." 
He  drew  out  a  card  and  handed  it  with  mys- 
terious solemnity  to  the  landlord.     *'  Colonel 


The  Colonel's  Plans.  215 

Walter  Egremont,  late  Royal  Engineers,"  he 
said,  reading  it  aloud  ;  "  husband  of  the  lady 
who  is  now  in  Number  Twenty." 

The  landlord  examined  it.  "I  see,"  he 
observed  cautiously.  "  One  must  not  inter- 
fere between  guests  and  their  families.  That 
induces  complications." 

"And  what  I  want,"  the  Colonel  continued, 
"is  to  raise  a  small  loan— a  merely  nominal 
loan,  say  a  couple  of  louis — which  would  en- 
able me  to  get  back  from  Goeschenen  by  the 
Gotthard." 

The  landlord  was  a  man  who  did  nothing 
precipitately.  "I  will  consider  it,"  he  an- 
swered, with  true  Swiss  prudence. 

And  he  considered.  As  the  result  of  his 
consideration,  it  occurred  to  him  to  take  the 
card  to  Sir  Emilius,  who  by  this  time  had 
learned,  very  much  to  his  surprise,  that  Hu- 
bert had  thought  better  of  his  intention  of 
dropping  Fede,  and  was  prepared  to  carry  out 
his  original  program  of  marrying  her.  Sir 
Emilius  scanned  the  card  close.  "  I'll  go  and 
see  him,"  he  said  slowly,  with  his  hand  on  his 
chin.  *'  I  can  do  more  with  him,  I  think,  than 
either  my  sister  or  my  nephew." 

It  was  perfectly  true.  Sir  Emilius's  quiet 
professional  manner  ahvays  frightened  the 
Colonel.  The  great  doctor  boarded  his 
brother-in-law  at  once  as  he  would  have 
boarded  any  other  incipient  lunatic.     '*  Now, 


2i6  A  Splendid  Sin. 

Egremont,"  he  said  firmly,  laying  one  hand  on 
his  shoulder,  and  holding  up  a  monitory  fore- 
finger of  the  other,  '*  the  landlord  tells  me 
you've  tried  to  borrow  money.  You  know 
very  well  if  you  borrow  it  from  him,  you  can 
never  repay  him.  I've  told  him  as  much  and 
warned  him  against  lending  it  to  you.  As  for 
Hubert  and  Julia,  they  have  made  their  minds 
up  never  to  let  you  have  another  penny. 
You've  brought  that  on  yourself,  by  coming 
here  against  orders  and  your  own  written  agree- 
ment. And  you've  caused  no  end  of  bother, 
and  trouble  as  well,  in  an  innocent  family, 
whose  only  crime  is  the  fact  that  it  happens  to 
have  yon  for  a  husband  and  father.  I  approve 
of  their  decision.  But  for  myself,  as  I  desire 
to  get  rid  of  you  at  once,  I'm  prepared  to  lend 
you  a  small  sum — five  pounds — to  clear  out 
with  immediately,  provided  you  engage  to  go 
straight  back  to  Lugano  to-day,  and  show  your 
face  here  no  longer.  Do  you  understand,  and 
do  you  promise  ? " 

He  held  an  English  five-pound  note  be- 
tween finger  and  thumb,  and  extended  it  tenta- 
tively. The  sight  of  so  much  money  was 
tempting  indeed  to  a  thirsty  man.  It  repre- 
sented some  dozens  of  brandy,  and  meant, 
among  other  things,  a  drink  immediately. 
Colonel  Egremont  did  not  hesitate.  Visions 
of  cognac  and  a  syphon  of  soda  floated  before 
his  eyes.     His  finance  and  his  diplomacy  were 


The  Colonel's  Plans.  217 

both  from  hand  to  mouth.  He  would  accept 
anything,  and  promise  anything,  for  a  mo- 
mentary advance.  One  can  always  lie  and 
break  one's  word  afterwards.  His  fingers 
closed  over  the  crisp  paper  eagerly.  "  I'll 
clear  out  at  once,  Rawson,"  he  answered,  *'as 
soon  as  I've  had  a  drink."  But  he  had  no 
more  intention  of  returning  to  Lugano  than  of 
returning  the  money. 

He  fortified  himself  for  the  way  with  a 
strong  glass  or  two  of  brandy.  Then,  certain 
that  nothing  more  was  to  be  obtained  from  his 
wife  or  Hubert  for  the  present,  he  set  off  on 
foot  in  the  direction  of  Meyringen,  carrying, 
as  usual,  his  whole  wardrobe  with  him.  But 
he  only  walked  as  far  as  the  very  next  village. 
There  he  ordered  a  post-cart  to  Lucerne  with 
the  air  of  a  duke,  and  lolled  back  in  it  luxuri- 
ously, like  a  born  Bashaw.  For  nobody  could 
accuse  Colonel  Egremont  of  not  spending  his 
money  royally  when  he  got  it.  He  wasted  it 
while  it  lasted,  and  then  begged  or  borrowed 
with  a  mind  at  ease  till  the  arrival  of  his  next 
remittance. 

He  slept  well  at  the  Schweitzerhof  :  why 
try  a  worse  house  ?  It  was  his  intention  to 
proceed  next  day  to  England. 

But  he  would  do  nothing  rash.  He  would 
keep  his  own  counsel.  As  Hubert  anticipated, 
he  had  reached  the  secretive  stage  of  insanity. 
Arrived  in  London,  he  would  consult  a  solid- 


2i8  A  Splendid  Sin. 

tor ;  till  then,  not  one  word  would  he  say  to 
any  one.  Better  lock  up  the  great  secret  in  his 
own  safe  breast,  till  he  could  trumpet  it  forth 
in  court — "  This  woman  was  unfaithful."  He 
hugged  himself  at  the  prospect  of  that  humili- 
ating disclosure.  If  Julia  got  wind  of  his  in- 
tention too  soon,  she  might  manage  to  evade 
him.  But  he  would  make  his  case  sure,  and 
then  burst  upon  her  like  a  thunderbolt.  Ha, 
ha,  ha,  what  a  triumph  !  That  bastard  should 
never  be  the  heir  of  Mil  worth  ! 

He  whistled  it  to  himself  as  he  drove  and 
lolled.     Bastard  !  bastard  !  bastard  !  bastard  ! 

He  lingered  on  the  word.  But  nature's 
bastards,  as  Hubert  knew  well,  are  the  chil- 
dren of  loveless  and  ill-assorted  unions. 


At  Milvvorth  Manor.  219 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

AT  MILWORTH  MANOR. 

While  the  hoary  old  reprobate  was  matur- 
ing his  plans,  Hubert  and  his  bride  were  pursu- 
ing theirs  quietly.  Early  in  November,  the 
Marchese  and  Fede  sat  in  Mrs.  Egremont's 
comfortable  drawing-room  at  Milworth  Manor, 
Devonshire. 

"  There  is  no  reason,"  Hubert  had  said  in 
Switzerland,  "why  Fede  and  I  should  not  be 
married  immediately." 

As  for  the  Marchese,  he  entirely  reciprocated 
that  view.  He  was  quite  convinced  that,  in 
his  own  parlance,  Fede  had  got  hold  of  "  a  good 
thing  "  in  England.  The  young  man  was  eli- 
gible. But,  with  a  person  so  apparently  capri- 
cious and  fanciful  as  Hubert,  the  Italian  pre- 
ferred to  see  everything  signed,  sealed  and 
delivered  outright  with  full  legal  formalities. 
"  Marry  them  out  of  hand,"  was  his  plan  for 
the  young  people.  The  wedding,  it  was  ar- 
ranged, should  take  place  (as  Cecco  had  wisely 
surmised)  at  the  end  of  November  in  London. 
Meanwhile,  the  Marchese  and  Fede  were  to 


220  A  Splendid  Sin. 

visit  Mrs.  Egremont  for  a  fortnight  at  her  home 
in  Devonshire. 

The  Marchese  was  by  no  means  disappointed 
in  the  property.  A  Georgian  house  in  a  big 
domain  exactly  suited  him.  He  stood  at  the 
bay  window  of  the  square  brick  mansion,  look- 
ing down  upon  the  valley  of  the  little  stream 
that  ran  in  esses  below,  admiring  the  rich 
green  pastures,  dotted  with  ruddled  sheep,  and 
the  wedge-shaped  glen  that  opened  through 
red  cliffs  to  the  purple  sea  of  the  South  Hams 
of  Devon. 

"  Isn't  it  lovely,  papa,"  Fede  exclaimed, 
touching  his  arm — "  this  beautiful  park,  and 
those  glorious  old  oak  trees  ?  " 

The  Marchese  took  it  all  in  with  a  compre- 
hensive glance.  "  Excellent  grass  land,  my 
dear,"  he  answered,  **  and  most  valuable  timber! " 

"  And  these  sweet  hills  and  dales  !  "  Fede 
cried  once  more.  "  And  the  darling  fallow- 
deer  huddled  together  on  the  ground  under 
the  big  horse-chestnuts  ;  and  the  river  that 
flows  in  such  a  curve  at  the  bottom  ;  and  the 
gardens  and  the  lawn  !  Oh,  Hubert,  it's  lovely  ! " 

Hubert  beamed  his  joy.  *'  I'm  so  glad  3^ou 
like  it,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  I  was  afraid  after 
Italy-" 

Fede  cut  him  short.  "  Oh,  no,"  she  an- 
swered, "  Italy's  a  picture-gallery  ;  but  Eng- 
land's a  garden." 

"  The  river  bounds  your  estate,  I  suppose, 


At  Milvvorth  Manor.  221 

Mrs.  Egremont  ?  "  the  Marchese  observed,  with 
an  underlying  note  of  interrogation  in  his  voice 
which  meant  inquiry  as  to  the  exact  extent  of 
the  Property. 

*'  Oh,  no,"  Mrs.  Egremont  said,  pointing 
vaguely  with  one  hand  toward  the  hills  of  the 
horizon,  "  we  go  beyond  it,  Marchese— to  the 
top  of  the  ridge  where  you  see  the  red  plowed 
fields  there." 

**  So  ?  "  the  Marchese  repeated.  His  respect 
for  the  family  into  which  Fede  was  marrying 
rose  visibly  each  moment.  "  And  in  the  other 
direction  ? " 

"  In  the  other  direction,"  Hubert  said,  "we 
go  up  to  the  summit  of  the  down  that  you  came 
over  from  the  station." 

'*  Indeed  !  "  the  Marchese  answered.  "  A 
very  handsome  Property.  Fede,  my  dear, 
you'll  have  room  to  walk  about  in,  I  fancy." 

**  Everything's  delicious  !  "  Fede  said,  en- 
chanted ;  "  the  house  and  grounds,  and  the  dear 
old  red  church,  and  the  rookery  with  the  elms, 
and  the  winding  river.  Did  you  ever  see  a  house 
so  pretty  as  this,  papa  ?  I  don't  mean  outside — 
though  even-  outside  the  creepers  make  it  all 
so  snug  and  cosy— but  this  charming  hall  and 
this  delightful,  comfortable  English  drawing- 
room  ? " 

.  **  My  dear,"  the  Marchese  interposed,  **  I  see 
in  this  taste  of  yours  the  finger  of  Providence. 
Jt's  lucky  you're  going  to  marry  an  Englishman, 


222  A  Splendid  Sin, 

for  Till  afraid  you're  as  English  and  as  Insular 
as  any  of  them." 

"  Oh,  no,"  Fede  cried,  "  you  mustn't  say 
that,  papa  !  I  love  England,  and  I  love  Hubert, 
and  I  love  you,  dear  mother,  and  I  love  this 
beautiful  place,  and  I  love  Oxford  ;  but  I 
won't  forego  my  birthright  of  having  been 
born  a  Florentine.  I'm  proud  of  Florence, 
and  proud  of  Italy  ;  I  shall  never  give  up  my 
Italian  ancestry.  It's  something,  after  all,  to 
be  by  descent  a  Tornabuoni  !  " 

*'  And  /  love  Italy,  Fede,"  Hubert  answered, 
*'  and  I  love  an  Italian  girl.  I  don't  think  I 
could  have  loved  her  quite  so  well  if  she 
weren't — well,  just  what  she  is,  Fede." 

Fede  quieted  his  too  demonstrative  affection 
with  a  look.  **  Now,  papa,"  she  said,  "  you 
haven't  half  admired  the  drawing-room  enough. 
This  exquisite  Morris  paper,  and  the  old  bro- 
cade curtains,  and  the  Chippendale  chairs — 
are  they  heirlooms,  dear  mother  ?  " 

Mrs.  Egremont  smiled.  '*  My  ancestors 
have  been  here  for  ten  generations,  Fede,"  she 
answered,  "  and  almost  everything  in  the  house 
has  descended  from  them — especially  the  silver 
and  the  old  oak  furniture." 

The  Marchese  surveyed  it  all  with  amused 
approbation.  ''  And  as  clean  as  a  new  pin,"  he 
interposed — *'  in  spite  of  its  age  !  It's  only  in 
England  one  ever  gets  that  delightfully  incon- 
gruous juxtaposition  of  antiquity  and  clcanli- 


At  Milworth  Manor.  223 

ness.  Tis  your  national  passion— next  after 
religious  and  moral  complacency.  Most  of 
your  people  imagine,  I  believe,  that  "  Cleanli- 
ness is  next  to  godliness  "  comes  out  of  the 
Bible.  They  take  their  own  proverb  for  a  text 
of  Scripture."  He  was  glancing  at  the  book- 
shelf, where  a  certain  number  of  poets  rubbed 
shoulders  with  moral  and  religious  treatises. 
"A  wonderful  nation  !  "  he  went  on,  musing. 
"  T//t'  Christiau  Year;  The  Book  of  Job  — 
Bradley  !  In  the  held  of  commercial  enter- 
prise, nothing  succeeds  like  soap.  In  litera- 
ture, the  staple  industry  of  your  principal 
writers  is  the  production  of  tracts.  Your 
greatest  artists  combine  both  tastes,  and  paint 
alternately  Rebekah  at  the  Well  and  advertise- 
ments for  Pears.  You  are  a  great  people  ! 
For  mixed  cleanliness  and  godliness,  there  is 
nobody  to  touch  you  ! " 

The  Marchese  was  remarkable  himself  for 
the  scrupulous  personal  neatness  of  the  Italian 
gentleman,  and  his  delicate  white  nails  and  ir- 
reproachable shirt-cuffs  gave  him  a  right  to 
criticise.  Hubert  smiled  at  his  strictures  ;  but 
Sir  Emilius,  whose  distinguishing  character- 
istics were  British  patriotism  and  unwaving  de- 
votion to  the  creed  of  the  tub,  intervened  with 
an  objection.  "  Look  at  our  sanitation,  though, 
Marchese,"  he  cried.  '*  The  decrease  in 
our  death-rate  through  judicious  drainage  ! 
Whereas  at  Naples — " 


224  A  Splendid  Sin. 

The  Marchese  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  At 
Naples,"  he  said,  '*  they  produce  opera  and 
cholera  ;  at  Florence,  Michael  Angelo,  typhoid, 
and  Dante.  I  grant  you  all  you  ask.  You 
are  the  cleanest  and  the  best-drained  nation  in 
Europe.  I  only  suggest  that  main  drauiage  is 
not  everything  :  to  be  merely  clean  does  not 
sum  up  in  itself  the  whole  gospel  of  per- 
fection." 

Sir  Emilius  was  dumfounded.  When  a 
foreigner  found  anything  to  criticise  in  England, 
he  set  it  down  at  once  to  envenomed  envy. 

Mrs.  Egremont  interposed  to  save  Sir  Emil- 
ius's  wounded  feelings.  "  Look  at  my  Bot- 
ticelli, Marchese,"  she  said  ;  "  that  charming 
Madonna  !  It's  a  sweet  thing,  isn't  it  ?  You 
see,  we  are  not  wholly  given  over  to  Re- 
bekahs ! " 

The  Marchese  scanned  it  attentively.  "  A 
school  piece,  I  should  say,"  he  answered  after 
a  pause  ;  for  he  was  a  bit  of  a  connoisseur  : 
"  not  a  genuine  work  of  the  master."  He  had 
more  than  one  specimen  of  his  great  country- 
man's handicraft  on  his  own  walls  in  Florence. 

"  I  bought  it  as  a  Botticelli,"  Sir  Emilius  said 
warmly,  "  and  gave  it  to  my  sister.  I  believe 
it's  genuine.  I  know  I  paid  a  genuine  price 
for  it."       .  : 

Pictures,  unfortunately,  were  the  one  object 
on  earth  for  which  the  Marchese  did  not  accept 
a  money  value  as  ultimate.     '*  Botticelli  as  im- 


I  At  Milvvorth  Manor.  225 

ported,  perhaps,"  he  rephed,  with  a  smile  and 
a  doubtful  accent.  "  The  BotticeUi  of  com- 
merce. Not  the  sort  of  article  we  consume  in 
Florence." 

"  Why  shouldn't  we  go  out  for  a  stroll  in  the 
grounds,  Hubert  ? "  Fede  put  in,  apprehensive. 
"  The  morning's  so  lovely." 

"  And  yet,  I'm  sorry  you  should  see  Milworth 
first  in  November  fogs,"  Hubert  answered,  with 
a  darted  glance.  "  It  looks  so  different,  you 
know,  when  the  leaves  are  on  the  oaks  and  the 
rhododendrons  in  the  shrubbery  are  one  blaze 
of  crimson." 

"  If  it's  so  lovely  now,"  Fede  replied,  **  I 
don't  know  what  it  can  be  in  the  green  and 
purple  of  summer.  But,  indeed,  could  it  be 
lovelier  than  the  dappled  gold  of  the  autumn 
tints  on  the  beeches,  and  the  blood-red  of  the 
maple  trees  ?  And  those  mists  over  the  river, 
how  mysterious  they  are  ;  how  soft !  I  love 
the  elusiveness  of  English  outlines." 

"Then  run  and  put  your  hat  on,  dear,"  Mrs. 
Egremont  said,  looking  at  her  affectionately. 
"  We'll  take  you  round  the  place  and  show 
you  where  all  the  wild  flowers  grow  in  spring. 
Not  even  the  banks  of  the  Arno  in  May  are 
lovelier,  Fede,  than  our  Milworth  woods  when 
the  bluebells  and  primroses  carpet  the  slopes, 
or  when  the  foxgloves  marshal  their  ranks  in 
great  regiments  in  August." 

The  Marchese  lingered  near  the  door  as  if 
15 


226  A  Splendid  Sin. 

conscious  that  reparation  was  due  to  Sir  Emil- 
ius.  "  It's  a  most  delightful  place,"  he  said  ; 
*'  capital  estate,  I  can  see,  with  good  fishing 
and  shooting.  After  all  your  English  country 
houses  are  the  cosiest  and  best-supplied  villas 
in  any  part  of  Europe." 

"  Eh  ? "  Sir  Emilius  said  hastily,  wonder- 
ing if  he  had  caught  so  obvious  a  platitude. 
"  Why,  of  course  they  are,  Marchese.  For 
show,  the  Continent's  all  very  well  in  its  way  ; 
but  for  solid  comfort,  it's  generally  admitted, 
there's  nothing  like  England." 

He  said  it  with  such  British  certitude  of 
conviction  that  the  Marchese  hardly  ventured 
on  the  risky  repartee,  "  If  only  the  cooks 
knew  anything  of  cookery  !  "  For  Sir  Emilius 
was  one  of  those  true-born  Britons  who  divide 
the  world  into  two  antithetical  halves  —Eng- 
land and  Abroad ;  believing  firmly  that  the 
denizens  of  Abroad,  who  are  called  Foreigners, 
must  themselves  be  conscious  of  their  own 
vast  inferiority  to  the  English  people,  and 
must  spend  their  time  in  deploring  the  Provi- 
dence which  did  not  permit  them  to  be  born 
Englishmen.  The  highest  compliment  he 
could  pay  to  any  Continental  was  to  say,  with 
warmth,  that  he  was  just  like  an  Englishman. 

"Cookery,"  Sir  Emilius  repeated,  taken  aback. 
"  Why,  where  in  Europe  can  you  get  a  joint 
of  meat  such  as  you  get  in  England  ? " 

"A  joint  of  meat  ?"  the  Marchese  mused  to 


,  At  Milworth  Manor.  227 

himself.  *'  Ay,  that's  just  it :  a  joint  of  meat ! 
Your  national  fetisii  !  Precisely  my  con- 
tention." 

"  And  our  London  dinner-parties,"  Sir  Emil- 
ius  went  on,  growing  warmer  as  he  proceeded. 
"  The  best  in  the  world.  What  have  you 
to  say  about  our  London  dinner-parties  ? " 

"  Exhibitions  of  food,"  the  Marchese  replied 
in  a  conciliatory  tone.  "  And  as  such,  no  doubt, 
admirable.  Material  evidences  of  your  nation- 
al prosperity.  The  finished  form  of  your  famous 
cattle  shows.  One  shows  the  raw  product,  the 
other  the  manufactured  article.  But  for  cook- 
ery, my  dear  Sir  Emilius  " — he  expanded  his 
palms  and  raised  his  shoulders — "  excuse  my 
incredulity." 

Fede  led  him  away  gently  to  avoid  further 
complications.  The  Italian  and  the  English- 
man were  as  oil  and  vinegar. 

"  Remarkable  the  blindness  of  these  Foreign- 
ers," Sir  Emilius  observed,  as  the  door  closed 
behind  them.  "  Brought  up  on  macaroni,  sour 
wine  and  frlttnra,  they  don't  understand  a 
good  piece  of  roast  beef  and  Yorkshire  pudding 
when  they  see  it  !  Most  singular,  really  !  " 
And  he  strolled  out  into  the  hall  for  his  hat 
and  umbrella — the  latter  a  talisman  which  he 
carried  through  life  with  religious  exactitude, 
in  no  matter  w^hat  climate. 

Hubert  and  Mrs.  Egremont  were  left  alone, 
awaiting  their  guests'  return  to  go  out  into  the 


228  A  Splendid  Sin. 

park.  Just  at  that  moment  a  servant  entered 
with  a  card,  which  he  passed  to  his  mistress. 
Mrs.  Egremont  took  it  carelessly  from  the 
salver,  hardly  darting  a  glance  at  it.  "  Who 
brought  it,  Reece  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Very  early 
to  call."  Then  the  name  caught  her  eye.  She 
changed  color  at  once.  But  she  did  not 
beiiay  herself  before  the  servant.  She 
passed  it  on  to  Hubert.  Her  son  glanced 
at  it,  and  held  his  breath.  "  Colonel  Walter 
Egremont."  So  he  had  kept  his  word !  He 
had  followed  them  to  Milworth  ! 

Hubert  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  Above 
all  things,  the  Tornabuoni  must  not  know  of 
this  visit.  The  Colonel's  apparition  in  Switzer- 
land had  alarmed  Fede  not  a  little  ;  if  she 
knew  he  was  at  Milworth,  it  would  certainly 
terrify  her. 

**  Show  the  gentleman  into  the  library, 
Reece,"  he  said,  with  the  utmost  calmness. 
*'  I  will  come  there  to  see  him." 

The  man  withdrew  to  do  as  he  was  bid. 
Mrs.  Egremont  glanced  at  Hubert  with  a  face 
of  agony.  "  Oh,  what  shall  w^e  do  ? "  she  cried. 
"What  shall  we  do  ?  It  is  my  fault,  Hubert. 
I  blurted  it  all  out  !  And  now  he  has  followed 
us,  and  he  will  tell  all,  and  disinherit  you." 

Hubert  rose  from  his  chair,  walked  slowly 
across  to  her,  and  smoothed  her  hair  with  his 
hand  in  the  gentlest  manner.  A  tinge  of  gray 
in  those  beautiful  brown  locks  made  them  only 


At  Milworth  Manor.  229 

prettier  and  more  pathetic.  "  Dearest  mother," 
he  said,  "you  need  not  be  afraid.  I  will  take 
him  in  hand.  He  shall  not  trouble  you.  Stop 
here  and  show  Fede  and  her  father  round  the 
grounds.  Make  some  excuse  for  me.  I  will 
see  him  and  get  rid  of  him." 


230  A  JSplendid  Sin. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

PRIVATE   INQUIRY. 

Anybody  who  had  seen  Colonel  Egremont 
in  the  library  at  Milworth  that  morning  would 
hardly  have  recognized  him  as  the  same  person 
who  had  walked  across,  in  half-ragged  clothes, 
from  Goeschenen  Station  to  the  Black  Eagle 
in  the  Rothenthal  a  few  weeks  previously. 
He  was  dressed  in  a  brand-new  tourist  tweed 
suit,  a  soft  felt  hat,  a  clean  white  shirt,  and  a 
collar  and  cuffs  as  immaculate  as  the  Marchese's. 
Dress  makes  a  marvelous  difference,  even  to 
such  a  degraded  sot  as  the  Colonel  ;  a  w^eek 
or  two  in  England,  a  temporary  renewal  of  the 
disused  habit  of  washing  himself  daily,  and, 
above  all,  the  consciousness  that  he  was  almost 
the  master  of  Milworth  Manor,  had  wrought 
an  incredible  change  in  the  shabby  old 
drunkard.  Other  circumstances  collaborated. 
Sir  Emilius's  five  pounds  had  brought  the 
Colonel  safely  to  London.  There,  a  shady 
solicitor  in  low  water  had  been  induced,  by 
tempting  promises,  to  take  up  his  case,  while 
a  still  shadier  money-lender  (relying  on  the 


Private  Inquiry.  231 

chance  that  the  wife  would  pay)  had  backed  it 
at  an  extravagant  rate  of  interest  for  a  few 
pounds  of  ready  money.  With  the  capital 
thus  obtained,  the  Colonel  had  proceeded  to 
rig  himself  out  in  a  suit  of  clothes  fit  for  a 
gentleman  ;  and  if  you  had  met  him  in  Bond 
Street  in  a  shiny  silk  hat  and  a  long  black  frock 
coat  the  day  before,  you  might  almost  have 
taken  him  at  first  sight  for  what  he  had  once 
been — an  officer  and  a  gentleman. 

Colonel  Egremont  had  not  come  down  to 
Milworth  alone.  He  brought  his  suite  along 
with  him.  As  he  sat  in  the  library  awaiting 
Hubert's  arrival,  he  turned  to  the  solemn- 
looking  young  man  in  a  respectable  black  suit 
who  had  accompanied  him  from  London. 
*'  Now  remember,  Fletcher,"  he  said,  in  his 
most  impressive  voice,  gazing  at  him  through 
the  eyeglass,  "  you  come  as  my  valet.  Every 
gentleman  of  position  must  have  a  valet.  And 
Fm  not  going  to  stand  any  damned  nonsense 
in  this  house,  I  can  tell  you.  Why  doesn't  the 
young  jackanapes  hurry  up  ?  Eh  ?  eh  ?  Is 
this  the  sort  of  way  to  treat  a  person  who  has 
borne  Her  Majesty's  commission  ? " 

The  private  detective  whom  he  addressed 
as  Fletcher  looked  at  his  employer  suspiciously. 
Suspicion  is  part  of  the  legitimate  stock-m- 
trade  of  a  private  detective.  It  is  the  armor 
of  the  profession.  And  this  particular  client 
was  a  peculiarly  shady  one.     In  the  first  place, 


232  A  Splendid  Sin. 

he  had  not  deigned  to  confide  to  his  employe 
the  nature  of  the  errand  upon  which  he  was 
coming.  He  merely  remarked,  with  airy 
generality,  that  he  was  going  down  to  Devon- 
shire, and  wished  to  watch  a  house  where  his 
wife  was  living.  "  Divorce  ? "  the  private 
detective  suggested  gently.  But  the  Colonel 
shook  his  head  with  austere  disapprobation. 
"What's  that  to  you,  young  fellow!"  he 
said.  *'  You  mind  your  own  business."  He 
had  the  exaggerated  secretiveness  of  the  semi- 
insane,  the  private  detective  fancied  ;  indeed, 
even  to  his  lawyer  and  his  money-lender  he 
had  only  confided  so  much  of  his  suspicions 
as  would  enable  him  to  raise  the  sinews  of  war 
for  this  important  expedition.  The  detective 
at  first  more  than  half  suspected  some  attempt 
at  burglary,  and  as  it  is  the  first  duty  of  every 
intelligent  private  inquiry  agent  to  look  after 
Number  One,  he  was  prepared  to  keep  a  close 
watch  of  his  own  upon  the  very  man  who  was 
paying  him  to  keep  a  close  watch  upon  others. 
Besides,  the  employer  was  clearly  more  than 
half  mad,  so  Fletcher  also  kept  an  eye  upon 
him  as  a  possible  lunatic.  Anyhow,  there  was 
something  to  be  got  out  of  the  job.  His  chief 
business  was,  to  draw  his  salary  and  to  see  that 
his  chief  got  him  into  no  serious  trouble. 

Hubert  did  not  hurry  to  go  into  the  library. 
It  was  not  his  policy  to  flatter  Colonel  Egre- 
mont's  idea  of  his  own  importance,  or  to  show 


I.  ( 


Private  Inquiry.  233 

such  signs  of  fear  as  might  perhaps  be  im- 
pHed  by  too  hasty  an  entrance,  so  he  loitered 
purposely.  The  Colonel  fumed  and  fretted. 
'*  Disgraceful,  Fletcher,  disgraceful  !  "  he  said, 
pacing  up  and  down  with  uncertain  steps,  like 
one  who  feels  his  legs  after  a  casual  tumble. 
*'  I'm  the  master  of  this  house — the  lord  of 
Milworth  Manor — and  yet,  I'm  to  give  way  to 
a  whipper-snapper  of  a  boy,  who  has  no  more 
right  in  the  place  than  you — nor  half  as  much, 
if  it  comes  to  that,  for  I  have  brought  you  here 
— and  he  keeps  me  w^aiting  his  pleasure  in 
this  abominable  fashion.  A  conceited  upstart  ! 
A  blithering  idiot  !  A  cad  of  an  interloper  ! 
But  /  shall  make  him  smart  for  it." 

"  Perhaps  he's  out,"  Fletcher  suggested 
calmly. 

"  No,  he  isn't,"  the  Colonel  answered,  "  for 
I  heard  his  voice  in  the  drawing-room  as  we 
came  in.  You  see,  I'm  master  here,  and  I 
know  the  place  well.  This  room  is  the  library ; 
then  outside  there's  the  entrance  hall,  where 
we  passed  ;  and  behind  it,  the  drawing-room. 
To  the  right  my  wife's  boudoir  ;  to  the  left  the 
billiard-room."  He  rose  and  walked  about, 
examining  the  pictures  and  furniture.  **  Very 
little  altered  either,"  he  went  on,  gazing  around. 
"The  same  old  bookcases,  the  same  old  water- 
colors,  the  same  old  sermons  in  dusty  calf,  the 
same  old  view  from  the  big  front  window. 
No  flies  on  that  view,  Fletcher.     One  of  the 


234  A  Splendid  Sin. 

best  in  Devonshire.  Time  writes  no  wrinkles 
on  its  azure  brow."  He  assumed  his  grandiose 
air.  "  Devilish  fine  house,"  he  went  on. 
**  Always  ivas  a  fine  house.  And  my  wife 
has  just  modernized  and  aestheticized  it  a 
trifle." 

"  Good  portrait,  the  young  man  in  uniform," 
Fletcher  observed,  glancing  up  at  it. 

"Good  portrait?  You  think  so?"  the 
Colonel  answered,  gazing  at  it  affectionately. 
**  Well,  it  was  considered  very  like  at  the  time 
it  was  taken.  It's  one  of  Watts's  earliest.  I 
sat  for  that — let  me  see — it  must  be  close  on 
thirty  years  ago." 

"  You  sat  for  it  ?"  the  detective  said  incred- 
ulously, glancing  from  one  to  the  other. 
"Why,  that  can't  be  you."  He  had  graver 
doubts  than  ever  of  his  employer's  sanity. 

"  It  is,  though,"  the  Colonel  replied,  hold- 
ing his  head  on  one  side  and  admiring  it  un- 
affectedly. "  I  was  an  innocent  young  chap 
then,  wasn't  I  eh  ?  before  I  blossomed  out  into 
the  hoary  old  reprobate.  I  quite  agree  with 
you,  I,  do  look  a  young  milksop  !  We  know 
what  we  are,  as  Ophelia  says,  but  we  know 
not  what  we  may  be.  Hang  it  all,  when  I  sat 
for  that  portrait,  Fletcher,  to  give  my  wife 
before  I  married  her,  I  didn't  think  I  should 
ever  be  kept  waiting  by  a  whipper-snapper  of 
a  sawbones  in  my  own  house  till  he  found  it 
convenient  to  himself  to  come  to  me.     Dis- 


Private  Inquiry.  235 

graceful,  I  call  it,  to  a  retired  officer  !  If  the 
fellow  don't  make  haste,  I'll  go  and  drag 
him." 

**  I  wouldn't  if  I  were  you,"  the  private  in- 
quirer put  in.  "  Legal  methods  are  safest. 
Tis  the  great  First  Principle  of  private  inquiry." 

*'  Legal  methods  !  "  the  Colonel  responded, 
in  his  largest  style,  swelling  visibly  before  his 
eyes  like  bread  when  it  rises.  "Why,  who's 
got  a  legal  right  to  be  here  if  it  isn't  me,  I 
should  like  to  know  ?  Eh,  eh  ?  What  do 
you  make  of  it  ?  This  house  is  mine— and 
the  park — and  the  manor."  He  waved  his 
hands  about  and  moved  over  to  the  window. 
"  Why,  damn  it  all,  there's  the  whipper- 
snapper,"  he  cried,  looking  out  at  Hubert — 
'*  over  there  by  the  clump  of  evergreens,  with 
that  Italian  girl  of  his.  In  uiy  grounds,  too  ! 
By  George,  what  insolence  !  " 

He  opened  the  French  window  slightly,  so 
that  he  could  catch  what  was  passing.  Hubert 
was  speaking  rather  low.  "  I  must  go  in  for 
a  while,  dear,"  he  said.  "  Somebody  wants 
to  see  me.  But  mother  will  show  you  round 
the  garden  and  grounds,  and  I'll  come  out 
again  as  soon  as  I  can  and  meet  you." 

"Will  you?"  the  Colonel  ejaculated  in  an 
undertone.  "  Oh,  will  you  really  !  Not  if  I 
know  it,  my  young  friend.  Once  I  catch  you, 
I  keep  you." 

He  spoke  in  a  thick  but  excited  voice,  which 


236  A  Splendid  Sin.  ». 

the  detective  didn't  quite  like.  It  suggested 
an  impartial  mixture  of  drink  and  madness. 

"  It's  sweet  everywhere  here,"  Fede  an- 
swered. "  Make  haste  and  come  back  to  me. 
I  want  you,  Hubert.  I  want  to  see  it  all  with 
you." 

*'  And  in  a  few  weeks  it  will  be  yours,  Fede," 
the  young  man  continued,  with  a  lover's  glance 
at  her.  "  You  w^ill  come  back  to  it  as  its 
mistress." 

And  he  moved  away  rapidly. 

'*  Oh,  will  she  ? "  the  Colonel  murmured. 
*'  About  that,  Mr.  Whipper-Snapper,  there 
may  be  two  opinions.  /'/;/  master  in  this 
house,  and  I'm  not  at  present  in  need  of  a 
lady  assistant.  Though,  to  be  sure,  the  3'Oung 
woman  would  suit  me  admirabl}^" 

As  he  spoke,  the  door  opened,  and  Hubert 
entered. 

*'Wcll?"  he  said  slowly,  surveying  the 
Colonel  up  and  down,  with  a  side-glance  at 
the  detective.  ''You  have  ventured  to  come 
here?" 

Colonel  Egremont  blustered  a  little,  though 
he  felt  vaguely  uncomfortable.  "  Yes,"  he 
answered  ;  "here  I  am,  and  here  I  mean  to 
remain.  Restitution  of  Conjugal  Rights  is  my 
game.  That's  just  what  they  call  it.  I've 
come  home  as  the  master  of  Milworth  Manor." 

**  I  beg  your  pardon,"  Hubert  answered, 
with  chilly  politeness,  *'  you  have  done  nothing 


w 


Private  Inquiry.  237 

of  the  kind.  This  is  my  mother's  house — 
neither  yours  nor  mine — and  without  her  per- 
mission you  shall  not  remain  in  it." 

He  approached  him,  threateningly.  The 
Colonel  drew  back  a  step.  "  Take  care,"  he 
said,  turning  an  appealing  glance  towards 
Fletcher.  "  I  have  brought  my  servant  with 
me  as  my  witness,  and  for  my  personal  pro- 
tection." 

Hubert  eyed  the  man  sternly.  "  Colonel 
Egremont,"  he  said,  with  calm  disdain,  "  I 
shall  not  permit  this  intrusion.  If  you  think 
you  have  any  claim  to  urge  against  my  mother, 
you  can  urge  it  by  legal  means.  I  refer  you 
to  her  solicitor.  But  if  you  attempt  to  remain 
here,  against  her  will,  I  shall  call  the  servants  to 
eject  you  forcibly."  He  moved  over  towards 
the  bell  and  placed  one  finger  on  the  electric 
knob.  "  Will  you  go?"  he  asked,  in  a  very 
quiet  voice.  "  Or  must  I  ring  for  them  to  re- 
move you  ? " 

The  Colonel,  taken  aback,  reflected  to  him- 
self that,  under  these  painful  circumstances, 
a  seeming  compliance  was  best  for  all  parties. 
He  had  calculated,  indeed,  on  terrifying  his 
wife  by  the  mere  fact  of  his  presence  at  Mil- 
worth  Manor.  This  cool  reception  took  him 
completely  by  surprise.  "  Oh,  I'll  go,"  he 
answered,  though  with  some  faint  undertone 
still  of  his  accustomed  bluff.  "  Go  ?  certainly ! 
By  all  means  !     A  gentleman  never  obtrudes 


238  A  Splendid  Sin. 

himself  wlvere  his  society  isn't  wanted.  You 
wisli  to  hear  from  my  solicitor — very  natural 
course— then  from  my  solicitor  you  shall  hear 
— and  shortly,  shortly." 

He  retreated  as  he  spoke,  one  step  at  a  time, 
and  let  his  eyeglass  drop  ;  while  Hubert  fol- 
lowed him  up  in  a  threatening  attitude.  He 
moved  on  to  the  door,  Fletcher  bringing  up 
the  rear.  In  the  hall,  Hubert  happened  to 
come  across  a  servant.  "  Reece,"  he  said,  in 
his  quietest  voice,  without  a  trace  of  flurry, 
"will  you  accompany  this  gentleman  all  the 
way  to  the  gate— see  him  safely  out — and  tell 
them  at  the  lodge  not  to  let  him  come  in 
again  ?  If  he  attempts  to  re-enter,  let  them 
send  for  the  police.  He  is  to  leave  the 
grounds.     You  understand  my  instructions  ? " 

Reece  bowed  with  the  inflexibly  unper- 
turbed face  of  the  well-trained  man-servant. 
"  Yes,  sir  ;  certainly,  sir,"  he  answered,  with 
promptitude.  It  the  Colonel  had  been  a  dog, 
Reece  could  not  have  received  the  order  with 
more  perfect  composure. 

Colonel  Egremont  was  taken  aback.  **Oh, 
for  the  matter  of  that,  I  go,"  he  said  jauntily, 
putting  on  his  soft  felt  hat,  and  assuming  an 
ostentatiously  nonchalant  air,  as  though  he 
rather  enjoyed  this  mode  of  ejection.  **  I  dis- 
like unpleasantness.  Never  was  a  person  for 
creating  scenes.  I  prefer  to  efface  myself. 
But  I  wish  you  to  understand,  young  man," 


Private  Inquiry.  239 

— he  addressed  the  servant — "  tliat  I'm  the 
master  of  this  house  ;  the  lord  of  the  Manor  of 
Mihvorth  :  and  when  I  eome  again,  I  expect 
you  to  obey  me.  Do  you  understand  ? "  He 
tapped  his  chest.  "  I'm  your  master,  sir — 
your  master  !  " 

"Yes,  sir;  certainly,  sir,"  Reece  replied, 
with  the  same  stolid  indifference.  It  was  no 
part  of  his  duty  to  be  rude  to  the  intruder. 

"  Then  why  do  you  take  me  to  the  gate  ?" 
the  Colonel  exclaimed,  as  Hubert  stood  at  the 
door  to  watch  him  retreat  from  it. 

"  Because  them's  my  orders,"  Reece  said,  in 
the  same  official  tone.  "  You  may  be  my 
master — but  I'm  engaged  by  Mrs.  Egremont." 

"  Arfd  I'm  her  husband,  fellow,"  the  Colonel 
cried,  trying  to  stop,  turn  round,  and  face 
him. 

Reece  drove  the  obnoxious  visitor  before 
him  down  the  avenue  as  he  would  have  driven 
a  cow  or  a  flock  of  sheep.  "  Yes,  sir  ;  so  I 
hear,  sir,"  he  assented,  never  pausing  for  a 
moment.  "  And  young  Mr.  Egremont's  orders 
is  to  see  Mrs.  Egremont's  husband  safe  off  the 
premises  ;  and  I'm  obeying  them,  sir  ;  beg 
your  pardon." 

There  was  no  withstanding  this  stolid  unim- 
pressionable devotion  to  duty.  If  the  last  day 
had  intervened,  Reece  would  still  have  con- 
tinued ejecting  the  Colonel,  till  force  majeure 
^compelled  him  to  desist.     The  Colonel  recog-j 


240  A  Splendid  Sin. 

nized  that  fact,  and  moved  slowly  before  him. 
Coin  of  the  realm  interposed  in  vain.  The 
Colonal  walked  on.  An  altercation  with  a  ser- 
vant ?— impossible,  he  reflected.  His  gait  was 
even  more  shaky  now  than  it  had  been  in 
Switzerland.  He  shuffled  as  he  walked, 
scarcely  lifting  each  foot  half  an  inch  above 
the  ground,  and  planting  it  again  in  a  curious 
uncertain  groping  fashion.  He  reeled  at  times 
like  an  over-driven  ox.  But  he  continued, 
uncomplaining,  his  head  high  in  the  air,  his 
mien  overbearing. 

Reece  accompanied  him  to  the  gate,  and 
saw  them  duly  out.  "  Good-morning,  sir  ; 
beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  with  perfect 
politeness.  He  was  a  gentleman's  servant. 
That  summed  up  the  whole  of  his  individual- 
ity. Then  he  turned,  like  the  perfect  machine 
that  he  w^as,  to  give  his  message  at  the  lodge 
to  the  gardener's  wife  who  kept  it.  "  If  these 
gentlemen  try  to  come  back,"  he  said,  with 
stolid  precision,  "  you've  to  bar  them  out,  Mrs. 
Michelmore.     Them's  Mr.  Hubert's  orders." 

Hubert  meanwhile  had  rejoined  his  mother. 
She  was  trembling  w^ith  anxiety.  "Well,  what 
have  you  done  ?  "  she  whispered. 

Hubert  laid  one  hand  on  her  shoulder  with 
an  affectionate  gesture.  "  Sent  him  off,"  he 
answered,  low.  *'He's  madder  and  more  ill,  I 
think,  than  ever.  He  won't  come  back,  I  be- 
lieve.    He's  just  at  the  last  gasp,  and  I've  re- 


Private  Inquiry.  241 

ferred  him  to  our  lawyer."    He  turned  to  his 

future  wife.     "  There,  Fede,"  he  added  aloud, 

did  you  over  see  anything  prettier  and  wilder 

in  Its  way  than  that  bed  of  yellow  flags  by  the 


bridge  and  the  river  ? " 
20 


242  A  Splendid  Sin. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

VICTORY. 

Outside  the  gate,  Colonel  Egremont  called 
a  halt  to  consider  the  situation.  Though  full 
of  self-importance  still,  he  was  taken  by  sur- 
prise, and  even  a  trifle  humiliated.  This 
summary  ejectment  entirely  upset  his  precon- 
ceived ideas.  He  had  expected  consternation ; 
he  found  quiet  resolve.  That  young  whipper- 
snapper  had  shown  no  disposition  to  parley 
with  him.  The  Colonel  had  come  down  to 
his  wife's  estate  in  a  heroic  not  to  say  thrasonic 
mood,  regarding  himself  already  as  the  master 
of  Milworth  ;  and  he  had  been  ignominiously 
expelled,  like  a  driven  dog,  by  a  single  man- 
servant. He  glanced  askance  at  Fletcher. 
**  Rum  job,"  he  mused  tentatively. 

"  Very  rum  job,"  the  detective  assented, 
with  a  distinctive  flavor  of  distrust  towards  his 
employer. 

Colonel  Egremont  paused,  and  drew  a  small 
leather-covered  flask  from  his  pocket.  He 
seated  himself  with  difficulty  on  a  fence  close 
by.     He  had  some  trouble  to  balance  himself, 


Victory.  243  ^ 

and  even  when  he  succeeded,  his  equihbriiim 
was  most  unstable.  "  I'm  run  down,  Fletcher," 
he  said,  with  a  glance  at  the  fiask.  "  Want 
winding  up  abit.  Andhere's  the  watch-key  !" 
He  poured  himself  out  a  small  glass  of  brandy, 
and  drank  it  off  in  meditative  abstraction. 

"  What's  the  next  move  ? "  the  detective 
asked.     This  odd  situation  piqued  his  curiosity. 

Colonel  Egremont  passed  him  the  glass  with 
a  polite  gesture  of  invitation.  "  Have  a  wind- 
up  ?"  he  asked.  "  What ;  no  ?  Blue  ribbon  ? 
I  hope  not.  Ah,  don't  want  a  drink  just  now  ? 
Then  we'll  proceed  to  business." 

He  steadied  himself  on  the  fence  with  con- 
siderable difficulty.  Turning  round  towards 
his  satellite,  he  began  again  slowly.  "  Fletch- 
er," he  inquired,  in  an  impressive  voice,  "  do 
you  know  anything  about  divorce  ? " 

The  detective  smiled  a  contemptuous  smile. 
**Do  I  know  anything  about  it  ?  "  he  repeated, 
with  sarcastic  emphasis.  "  Do  I  know  my 
own  business  ?  Divorce  is  bread  and  butter 
to  me— board,  lodging  and  washing.  Why, 
I've  supported  a  wife  and  family  on  divorce — 
four  strapping  little  youngsters,  as  fine  as  they 
make  'em." 

"Well,  wherever  there's  an  intrigue — "  the 
Colonel  began,  in  a  tentative  voice. 

"  In  my  experience,"  Fletcher  broke  in, 
*'  there  is  always  an  intrigue."  And  he  spoke 
with  confidence. 


244  A  Splendid  Sin. 

*'  There  will  probably  be  letters,"  the  Colonel 
went  on,  without  noticing  the  interruption. 

"  In  Jiiy  experience,"  the  private  inquirer 
repeated  pointedly,  "there  2ive  always  letters." 

Colonel  Egremont  hesitated.  With  the 
natural  secretiveness  of  the  half-insane,  he  did 
not  wish  to  blurt  out  more  of  his  case  than 
necessary.  "  But  if  an  intrigue  happened  long 
since,"  he  said  ;  "  n^any  years  ago,  for  instance 
— say  twenty  or  more — would  the  letters  be 
kept,  or  would  the  possessors  burn  them?" 

The  detective  answered  with  the  certainty 
given  by  long  habituation  to  the  ways  of  human 
nature.  '*  A  man  lets  'em  lie  about,  or  loses 
'em,  or  burns  'em  ;  a  woman  keeps  'em." 

"  Ahvays  keeps  them,  Fletcher  ?  " 

"  Invariably  keeps  'em." 

"  For  twenty-four  years  ?  " 

"  For  the  term  of  her  natural  life.  Till  she 
dies,  or  somebody  else  gets  'em." 

The  Colonel  let  himself  down  with  difficulty 
from  his  perch.  His  control  of  his  limbs  was 
evidently  precarious.  He  braced  himself  up 
for  a  supreme  effort.  "  Then  come  along,"  he 
said  shortly.     "I'm  going  for  those  letters  !  " 

The  detective  paused  and  hung  back.  "  To 
the  house  again? "  he  inquired,  with  apparent 
unwillingness. 

*'  Not  by  the  front  way,"  Colonel  Egremont 
answered.  "  I  shall  take  another.  Remember, 
I'm  master  here,  Fletcher  ;  I  know  the  estate 


M 


Victory.  245 

and  all  the  ways  of  it.  We'll  stroll  in  by  the 
shrubbery  and  the  library  window,  without 
passing  the  lodge,  or  ringing  the  bell,  or  trying 
the  front  door.  There's  a  side  path  yonder. 
Why,  man,  I  could  find  the  road  anywhere 
about  here  in  the  dark.  It's  the  same  as 
twenty  years  ago,  only  just  grown  up  a  bit." 

Fletcher  drew  back  once  more.  "  I  don't 
quite  like  the  look  of  it,"  he  said  ;  "  it's  too 
near  a  shave  of  burglary." 

"  Now,  you  look  here,  young  man,"  the 
Colonel  broke  out,  in  his  most  paternal  tone  ; 
*'  there's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of.  I'm  master 
here,  and  I  mean  to  be  respected.  I'm  the 
lady's  husband,  and  you  saw  they  admitted  it. 
A  man  may  visit  his  own  wife's  house,  mayn't 
he  ?  If  he  can't,  what's  the  law  for,  and  res- 
titution of  conjugal  rights,  I  ask  you  ?  I  don't 
want  you  to  help  me.  I  don't  ask  you  to  come 
in.  I  only  ask  you  to  watch  outside  and  let 
me  know  if  anybody  else  is  coming.  When 
they  turn  up,  you  can  cough  ;  and  I'll  promise 
to  see  you  safely  through  with  it." 

"  What  I  want  to  know,"  the  detective  said 
doggedly,  is,  what's  this  job  ?  Is  it  divorce  or 
isn't  it  ?  Do  you  suspect  your  wife,  or  do  you 
want  her  money  ?  " 

The  Colonel  temporized.  "  I  suspect  my 
wife,"  he  answered, — "  of  hopeless  respecta- 
bility. Though,  of  course,  when  a  man's  been 
away  from  home  for  twenty-four  years,  why, 


246  A  Splendid  Sin. 

hang  it  all,  something's  likely  to  have  happened 
in  the  interval,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  if  thafs  your  game,"  Fletcher  answered, 
"  that's  all  right.  The  usual  line  of  business. 
But  why  didn't  you  say  so  ?  " 

"  Because,"  the  Colonel  answered  v/ith 
dignity,  "  I'm  the  master  of  this  house,  and  I'm 
not  going  to  be  questioned  by  anybody  with 
impunity."  As  he  said  it,  he  drew  himself  up 
and  strutted. 

"  Going  mad  ! "  the  detective  thought  to 
himself.  "  I've  seen  them  that  way  before. 
But  anyhow,  I'm  down  here,  and  I'd  better 
help  him  through  with  it.  It  may  be  the  reg- 
ular private  inquiry  business,  who  knows  ? 
If  he  pays  me,  well  and  good  ;  if  he  goes  mad, 
I  can  take  the  other  side,  and  get  it  out  of  the 
family  in  the  end  for  watching  him.  I  can  see 
there  ain't  much  love  lost  between  'em,  any- 
how." 

They  put  themselves  in  motion  again.  The 
Colonel  walked  round  by  the  back  of  the 
shrubbery,  along  the  high-road,  not  skulking 
as  he  went,  but  more  erect  than  usual.  He 
strutted  as  he  walked,  though  with  his  feet 
dragging  painfully  and  at  times  almost  tripping 
him.  When  they  had  come  abreast  of  the 
house,  under  the  high  brick  wall,  he  opened 
a  small  sidegate  with  an  air  of  authority.  His 
mien  was  pompous.  The  detective  followed 
him.     They  went  by  a  mossy  path,  damp  and 


\  \ 


Victory.  247 

matted  underfoot,  and  completely  over-arched 
by  horse-chestnut  and  lilac  bushes.  Still 
walking  very  erect,  the  Colonel  approached 
the  library  window,  which  he  had  left  half- 
open  when  they  quitted  it  an  hour  before.  He 
stalked  in  with  some  remnant  of  a  military 
tread,  in  spite  of  his  paralysis.  Still  Fletcher 
followed  him.  The  Colonel's  manner  grew 
more  grandiose  at  each  step  ;  he  entered  the 
drawing-room,  and  looked  haughtily  about 
him.     Then  he  drew  out  his  flask  again. 

*'  What  are  you  up  to  ?  "  the  detective  asked, 
in  a  warning  voice. 

*'  Only  just  going  to  oil  the  machinery  a 
bit,"  Colonel  Egremont  replied  with  a  wink  ; 
and  he  proceeded  to  oil  it  ;  after  which,  he 
reflected  that  winking  was  undignified,  and 
drew  himself  up  still  more  stiffly  than  ever. 

The  detective  looked  alarmed.  "  Well,  the 
sooner  you  get  to  work  now,"  he  said,  "  the 
better.  If  it's  letters  you  want,  do  you  know 
where  to  find  them  ?  " 

"Yes,"  the  Colonel  mused  slowly,  like  one 
talking  in  his  sleep.  *'  In  my  wife's  boudoir 
There  was  an  escritoire  there — if  they  haven't 
modernized  andaestheticized  it  out  of  existence 
— in  which  she  used  always  to  keep  her  most 
private  correspondence.  It  may  be  there  still  ; 
.  .  .  and  again  it  may  not." 

He  doddered  as  he  talked,  but  his  smile 
was  a  smile  of  ineffable  cunning.     He  moved 


248  A  Splendid  Sin. 

towards  tlie  door.  "  If  anyone  comes,"  he  said, 
turning  round/*  cough!  77/ manage  everything." 

"Look  here,"  Fletcher  said  again,  "are  you 
going  to  open  this  escritoire,  or  are  you  not  ? 
For  if  you  do,  that's  burglary." 

The  Colonel  waved  his  hand.  "  I  tell  you,'* 
he  answered,  with  some  impatience,  "  I'm  well 
within  my  rights.  I'm  master  in  this  house, 
and  I  can  do  what  I  like  in  it.  I  shall  find 
that  woman  out.     Yes,  I'm  going  to  open  it." 

*'  Well,  have  you  anything  to  open  it  with, 
then  ? "  the  cautious  detective  inquired,  more 
practically.     He  spoke  in  a  whisper. 

Colonel  Egremont  produced  a  small  skeleton 
key.     "  I  have  this,"  he  answered. 

"  Good  !  "  the  detective  replied,  with  a  sat- 
isfied nod.  "Not  such  a  fool  as  he  looks! 
D.  T.,  no  doubt :  but  still  the  lady  may  have 
letters  for  all  that. — Well,  you'd  better  make 
haste.     I  don't  half  like  the  hang  of  it." 

The  Colonel  nodded  and  disappeared. 
Fletcher  gazed  after  him  with  a  dubious  glance. 
"  He's  the  oddest  client  I  ever  had,"  he  mur- 
mured to  himself,  "/don't  know  what  to  think 
of  him.  If  he's  a  burglar,  he's  made  me  an 
accessory  before  the  fact  ;  if  he's  not  a  burglar, 
he  comes  about  as  near  being  a  lunatic  as  any 
one  I  ever  had  the  pleasure  of  serving.  He's 
a  mystery,  that's  what  he  is.  Anyhow,  I've  got 
to  keep  an  eye  on  him.  After  all,  Number 
One  stands  first  on  the  register  !  " 


Victory.    "  249 

The  Colonel,  meanwhile,  moved  slowly  into 
the  next  room,  and  looked  about  him  on  every 
side  with  the  same  studied  air  of  preternatural 
cunning.  Yes,  it  was  Julia's  boudoir  !  The 
paper  w^as  changed,  to  be  sure,  and  the  curtains, 
and  the  carpet  ;  but,  with  those  exceptions, 
the  room  and  furniture  remained  much  the 
same  as  he  had  known  them  twenty-four  years 
ago.  The  Sheraton  chairs  ;  the  Empire  lounge  ; 
the  Japanese  cabinet  with  the  inlaid  birds  ;  the 
portrait  of  Julia's  father,  by  Sir  Francis  Grant ; 
above  all,  the  escritoire  !  As  he  looked  at  it, 
he  felt  it  contained  what  he  wanted — the  docu- 
mentary evidence  that  was  bound  to  make  him 
master  of  Mihvorth  ! 

Trembling  all  over  with  excitement,  he  hardly 
knew  wiiy,  he  approached  the  escritoire,  and 
began  fumbling  at  the  lock  with  his  skeleton 
key  in  a  tremulous  fashion.  The  wards  yielded 
slowly.  The  Colonel  opened  a  drawer.  A 
piece  of  blue  paper  stared  him  in  the  face,  with 
a  red  embossed  stamp  of  familiar  aspect.  He 
took  it  out  and  looked  at  it.  So  she  treasured 
that  still  !  the  forged  draft  on  General  Walker ! 
He  tossed  it  aside  without  a  sign  of  care.  It 
was  waste  paper  now  ;  old  Walker  was  dead, 
and  nobody  else  could  sw^ear  to  the  forgery. 
Such  a  capital  imitation  !  His  fingers  trembled 
still  more  as  he  explored  the  rest  of  the  drawer. 
This  was  clearly  where  Julia  kept  her  most 
private  papers.     He  pulled  them  out  one  by 


2So     ^  A  Splendid  Sin. 

one — bills,  photographs,  vouchers.  Ha !  a 
bundle  of  letters — faded  old  letters,  tied  with 
green  silk  ribbon,  and  neatly  folded.  A  seal 
outside  !  He  tore  open  the  covering.  These 
were  the  sort  of  thing  now  !  His  heart  swelled 
with  triumph.  These  w^ould  prove  what  she 
had  said  that  day  at  the  Rothenthal !  These 
would  dispossess  the  whipper-snapper — and 
make  him  master  of  Milworth  Manor  ! 

He  turned  them  over  and  gazed  at  them. 
"  Now  I  have  her  in  my  grip  !  "  he  cried. 
"  Marked  outside  with  his  name  !  These  are 
they  !  These  are  they !  It  says,  *  Letters 
from  Arthur  ' !  " 

He  drew  one  from  the  packet.  "  Let  me 
see,"  he  muttered.  "  *  My  darling  Julia.* 
How's  that  for  the  Probate  and  Divorce  Divi- 
sion ?  *  A  kiss  to  our  boy.'  Why,  that's 
evidence  !  that's  evidence  !  '  Our  boy,'  he 
says — here,  in  his  own  handwTiting  !  *  Your 
ever  devoted  friend  and  lover,'  and  he's  signed 
it  w^ith  his  name.  The  fool !  A  poet !— a  poet ! 
She  thought  it  >>uch  romance  to  pick  up  with 
a  poet  !  " 

His  fingers  trembled  as  he  ran  through  the 
packet.  He  skimmed  letter  after  letter  hurried- 
ly, just  grasping  their  meaning,  and,  as  he  read 
them,  one  thought  grew  uppermost  all  the 
time  in  his  mind — he  w^ould  be  lord  of  Mil- 
w^orth  and  revenged  on  Julia. 

He  had  not  even  the  usual  barbaric  feeling 


Victory.  251 

of  his  class.  He  did  not  think  of  the  slight 
upon  JiisJionor,  as  people  phrase  it ;  he  rejoiced 
to  know  he  could  be  revenged  on  Julia.  Slie 
had  kept  him  all  those  years  on  the  Continent 
out  of  his  own.  Now,  his  heel  was  on  her 
neck,  and  he  would  crush  her,  crush  her  ! 
And  that  bastard  upstart,  who  turned  him  out 
to-day  !  He  would  turn  him  out  in  turn — to 
beg  or  starve  by  the  wayside  ! 

As  he  read  and  'read,  Fletcher  coughed  in 
the  next  room.  For  a  minute  or  two  the  Colo- 
nel, now  flushed  with  victory,  hardly  noted 
the  signal  ;  but  when  the  detective  coughed 
again,  somewhat  more  loudly  than  before,  he 
recollected  with  an  effort,  and  bundling  up  the 
letters  loosely  in  his  hand,  staggered  out  into 
the  drawing-room. 

Staggered  visibly  now ;  Fletcher  noticed 
the  change  as  he  entered  the  room  again. 
*'  Well,  what's  up  ? "  the  Colonel  inquired, 
with  an  air  of  suppressed  triumph. 

The  detective  pointed  to  the  park.  "They're 
coming  this  way,"  he  said;  "  young  Mr.  Eg- 
remont  and  some  ladies  and  gentlemen." 

"  That's  my  wife  !  "  the  Colonel  cried  ex- 
citedly, pointing  towards  her.  ''I've  got  her 
under  my  foot  !  I've  found  what  I  wanted, 
Fletcher  !  I've  found  what  I  wanted  !  "  He 
flourished  the  letters  over  his  head,  and  then 
thrust  them  hastily  here  and  there  into  his 
pockets.     "  And  that's  the  Italian  brigand  by 


252  A  Splendid  Sin. 

her  side,"  he  went  on  ;  **  and  that's  the  young 
jackanapes  who's  taken  my  phice,  and  the  girl 
who  thinks  it's  a  fine  thing  to  marry  him  !  I 
have  them  all  under  my  thumb  !  "  He  spoke 
with  thick,  loud  accents.  "  I've  bested  them, 
Fletcher !  I've  bested  them  !  And  I  mean  to 
make  them  pay  for  it." 

The  detective  looked  at  him  closely.  The 
Colonel's  eye  was  shot  with  triumph.  Was  it 
madness  or  success,  the  private  inquirer  won- 
dered. Had  he  really  found  anything,  or  was 
he  suffering  from  a  delusion  !  "  Well,  you  d 
better  come  away  now,"  the  spy  said  at  last. 
"  You've  got  what  you  want — and  they'll  be 
back  in  a  minute  !  " 

The  Colonel  turned  to  him  with  fierce  ex- 
ultation. "  Victory  !  victory !"  he  cried.  "I've 
crushed  that  woman  !  " 

"  Then  the  best  thing  you  can  do,"  the 
detective  answered  dryly,  "  is  to  clear  out  at 
once,  before  they  come  back  and  take  the 
letters  away  from  you  !  " 

*'  No,  no,"  the  Colonel  cried.  "  I'm  in  my 
own  house  again,  and  I'll  never  clear  out  of  it." 

**  Till  you  go  to  Colney  Hatch,"  the  detective 
murmured  inaudibly. 

**  I'm  lord  of  the  manor  of  Milworth,"  the 
Colonel  went  on,  blustering.  *'  As  fine  a  place 
as  any  in  the  county  of  Devon  !  And  now 
I'm  here,  I'd  have  you  to  know,  I  mean  to 
stop  here." 


Victory.  253 

"  If  you've  got  the  letters  you  want,"  Fletcher 
urged,  with  professional  common  sense,  "  you'd 
better  go  at  once.  They're  coming  back  four 
strong,  and  they'll  make  short  work  of  you 
and  me,  Colonel." 

"  No,  no,"  the  Colonel  cried,  staggering. 
"I've  found  wliat  I  wanted,  and  I'm  master  of 
the  situation.  J'y  stiis,  et  fy  rcste  !  That's  the 
word  for  a  soldier.  This  is  my  Malakoff, 
and  I  won't  stir  out  of  it.  Fletcher,  I  feel  like 
Nelson  at  Trafalgar  !  I've  carried  my  point  ! 
I've  trampled  on  that  woman  !  " 

"  Nelson  died  at  Trafalgar,  I  believe,"  the 
detective  said  dryly,  trying  to  lead  him  away. 
The  omen  appeared  to  him  by  no  means  a 
well-chosen  one. 

The  Colonel  resisted,  and  reeled  more  than 
ever.  "What's  that  to  a  soldier?"  he  cried. 
He  was  quivering  with  excitement.  "  What's 
death — with  victory  ?  Do  I  care  about  dying 
— at  the  moment  of  triumph  ?  Wolfe  died  on 
the  field  !  So  did  Sidney— and  Gordon.  I'm 
Nelson  at  Trafalgar.  These  papers  settle  all. 
If  she  dares  to  turn  me  out,  I  have  her  at  my 
mercy  ! "  He  drew  them  from  his  pocket 
again  and  brandished  them  round  his  head, 
'*  Compromising  !  compromising  !  They've 
settled  her  !  "  he  shouted. 

"Well,  what  are  they  any  way?"  the 
detective  asked,  with  a  quiet  smile.  If  there 
was  anything  to  know,  he  might  as  well  know  it.. 


254  A  Splendid  Sin. 

The  Colonel  eyed  him  suspiciously.  "What's 
that  to  you,  sir  ?"  he  said,  the  insane  secretive- 
ness  getting  the  upper  hand  once  more  of  the 
insane  ostentation.  **  You  want  to  know  too 
much,  an  underling  like  you.  I'm  the  lord  of 
the  manor,  and  I  shall  do  as  I  like  .  .  .  with 
my  own  women  and  my  own  papers." 

He  broke  into  a  hoarse  laugh.  The  detec- 
tive knew  what  it  meant,  and  chose  his  side 
instantly.  "  Of  course,"  he  said,  scanning  him 
up  and  down,  and  speaking  in  a  coaxing  tone. 
"  Quite  right  and  proper.  You're  the  King  of 
the  Castle,  and  who  shall  knock  you  down  ? 
Still — they're  coming  along  the  avenue  !  You 
have  no  time  to  lose.  They'll  try  to  take  them 
from  you — those  valuable  letters— those  com- 
promising letters  !  Hadn't  you  better  give 
them  to  me  for  safe  keeping  ? "  For  he  re- 
flected that  the  letters  were  probably  incrim- 
inating ;  they  might  prove  a  great  deal  ;  and 
if  his  client  went  mad,  or  had  a  fit  on  the 
spot,  he  could  use  them  himself  to  sell  to  Mrs. 
Egremont,  or  to  levy  blackmail  with. 

"  No,"  the  Colonel  answered  firmly,  clasping 
them  to  his  breast.  **  I'll  keep  them,  and 
defend  them  !  I'm  a  British  soldier.  I'm  not 
afraid  of  your  Italian  brigands  !  "  He  strode 
about  the  room,  blustering  and  vaporing. 
"I'm  a  Royal  Engineer,"  he  said;  "finest 
corps  in  the  world— and  a  match  for  a  dozen 
of  them  !     And  I'll  fight  for  it  5   I'll  fight  for 


Victory.  255 

it  !  I've  got  that  woman  on  her  knees  at  last. 
I've  got  her  on  her  marrow-bones— a  sneaking, 
puritanical  skinflint  hypocrite  ?  " 

Fletcher  seized  him  by  the  arm.  "  Now, 
come  away,"  he  said,  coaxing  him.  "  You'd 
better  come  away  with  me." 

**  I  won't,"  the  madman  answered,  beginning 
to  hector  and  caper  about  with  momentary 
recovery  of  the  use  of  his  limbs.  He  pulled 
out  a  revolver.  "  I  shall  be  even  with  them  ! " 
he  cried  aloud,  pointing  it.  "  I  haven't  come 
unarmed  !  Trust  a  soldier  tor  that  !  If  they 
touch  me,  hand  or  foot,  I  tell  you,  sergeant, 
they'll  have  a  warm  reception  !  " 

Fletcher  humored  him  quietly.  He  saw 
now  he  had  to  deal  with  a  dangerous  lunatic. 
"Is  it  loaded?"  he  asked,  with  a  suspicious 
glance  at  the  deadly  instrument. 

"  In  six  chambers  !  "  ihe  Colonel  answered, 
regarding  if  affectionately. 

The  detective  eyed  it  with  apparent  admira- 
tion. "  It's  a  nice  weapon,"  he  observed,  with 
the  tone  of  a  connoisseur.  He  put  out  his 
hand  and  took  it.  The  Colonel  yielded  it 
easily.  Fletcher  pretended  to  examine  it, 
while  the  Colonel  strutted  up  and  down  the 
'•00m  excitedly.  "  A  very  pretty  instrument," 
he  said,  eyeing  it  close.  "  117///  ejector,  I 
observe  !  The  neatest  I've  handled — and  we 
sometimes  have  a  use  for  them  !  "  He  juggled 
with  it  for  a  moment.     *'  Ought  to  settle  their 


256  A  Splendid  Sin. 

hash  for  them  ! "  he  went  on,  handing  it  back. 
"  Though,  as  a  man  of  peace,  I  object  to 
firearms.  A  court  of  law  is  safer  for  all  parties. 
If  I  were  you.  Colonel,  I  wouldn't  use  the  re- 
volver unless  absolutely  necessary.  Revolvers 
complicate  private  inquiry." 

"  Oh,  never  fear  for  me,"  the  Colonel  an- 
swered. "  I'm  an  old  hand,  you  know.  I'm 
a  military  man  !  I'm  as  cool  as  a  cu- 
cumber !  " 

*'  You  look  it,  you  do,"  the  detective  replied 
grimly.  "  You'd  better  keep  calm  !  Remem- 
ber, no  more  brandy." 

The  madman  caught  at  the  word.  **  Brandy  ! " 
he  cried.  "  Ha,  that's  good  !  I  am  a  bit  ex- 
cited. I  want  something  to  calm  me  down — 
something  to  nerve  and  quiet  me  !  "  He  held 
out  his  hand.  It  trembled  violently.  "  By 
Jove,  this  won't  do,"  he  said.  '*  Can't  shoot 
straight  wdth  that  hand.  Want  winding  up 
again.  Where's  the  key  ? "  He  pulled  out 
his  flask,  and  turned  it  upside  down.  "Not  a 
blessed  drop  in  it  !  "  He  stalked  up  and  down 
with  long  steps.  **  Pretty  position,"  he  cried, 
"  for  an  officer  and  a  gentleman  !  In  his  own 
house,  and  kept  short  of  brandy  !  Wolfe  at 
Quebec— kept  short  of  brandy  !  I  niusth^xe  a 
drink.  If  I  don't,  I  collapse — collapse  before 
I've  had  my  revenge  upon  Julia  !  I  must  keep 
cool,  I  say,  for  the  sake  of  my  revenge."  He 
went  up  to  the  bell,  pressed  the  knob  hard, 


M 


Victory.  257 

and  rang  it  violently.  "  Electric,"  he  said, 
*'  electric  ;  put  in  without  my  consent  !  But 
I  want  some  brandy.  I'm  master  in  this 
house,  and,  by  George,  I  tell  you  I  shall  have 
what  I  want  in  it." 

He  strode  up  and  down  fiercely  till  the  bell 
was  answered.  Fletcher  in  the  background 
regarded  him  w4th  cynical  indifference.  A 
young  footman  came  up,  not  the  imperturbable 
Reece.  He  stared  at  the  Colonel  in  evident 
surprise.  '*  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  said, 
stammering.     "  Did  you  ring,  sir  ?  " 

Colonel  Egremont  turned  upon  him  with  a 
scowl  that  made  the  man  tremble.  *'Yes,  I 
did  ring,  jackass,"  he  said.  "  I  should  think 
you  heard  me.     I  want  some  brandy." 

The  footman  hesitated.  *'  I  beg  your 
pardon,  sir,"  he  began.  "  Mr.  Reece,  sir, 
told  me " 

The  Colonel  advanced  towards  him  with  a 
fierce  grimace,  brandishing  his  revolver.  "  Mr. 
Reece  may  go  to  hell,  fool,"  he  shouted. 
"  Do  you  hear  what  I  say  ?  Brandy,  Brandy, 
BRANDY ! ' 

The  man  retreated  a  step  or  two,  and  glanced 
aside  at  Fletcher.  Fletcher  signed  to  him  to 
fetch  it.  A  keeper,  no  doubt  ;  but  still  the 
man  hesitated.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he 
said  again,  "  but— I  didn't  let  you  in  ;  and 
Mr.  Reece  gave  particular  orders " 

The  Colonel  strode  towards  him  with  two 
17 


258  A  Splendid  Sin. 

very  long  paces,  and  pointed  the  revolver. 
'*  Tm  master  in  this  house,"  he  cried,  **  not 
Mr.  Reece  or  Mrs.  Egremont.  I'm  Colonel 
Walter  Egremont,  fellow — late  Royal  En- 
gineers ;  and  when  I  give  an  order,  by  George, 
I  expect  to  be  listened  to.  I'm  lord  of  the 
manor  of  Milworth,  and  I  shall  be  obeyed  in 
it.  I'm  waiting  here  for  your  mistress,  who 
happens  to  be  my  wife.  And  I  order  you 
now  to  bring  me  some  brandy." 

He  glared  at  the  man  savagely.  The  fellow, 
cowed  and  terrified,  answered  in  a  feeble 
voice,  "  Yes,  sir  ;  certainly,  sir  !  "  and  retreated 
towards  the  door.  The  Colonel  glanced  after 
him.  **  And  mind,"  he  cried,  "  if  you  bring 
up  that  creature  Reece  instead  of  bringing  the 
brandy,  I  shall  put  a  bullet  through  that  ugly 
fat  mug  of  3'ours.  Do  you  understand,  a 
bullet — here — out  of  this  revolver.  Damned 
cheek  of  the  fellow  !  That's  the  way  to  treat 
them  !  A  military  man  should  inspire  respect. 
And  here  in  my  own  house  I'm  an  Egremont 
of  Egremont." 

He  prowled  about  and  blustered.  The 
man-servant  came  back  with  a  decanter  of 
brandy,  a  syphon,  and  a  tumbler.  He  pre- 
sented them,  shaking.  "  The  spirit,  sir,"  he 
muttered. 

**  I  see  it,  idiot,"  the  Colonel  replied. 
"  What's  this  for,  fool  ?  "  And  he  snatched 
up  the  syphon  derisively.     Then,  seized  with 


Victory.  259 

a  sudden  impulse,  he  pressed  the  handle    and 
spurted  the  contents  over  the   man's  morning 
hvery.     "  Take  that,"  he  exclaimed,  laughing 
He  poured  hmiself  out  half  a  tumblerful  of 
spirit,  and  tossed  it  off  neat.     "  There  !    That 
makes  a  man  of  me  !  "  he  cried.    ''That  washes 
out  the  brain   and   fortifies  the  i^^+ellect  !     I 
can  face  Julia  now.    By  Jove,  this  is  a  triumph  ' 
Victory,  victory  !      I'm  Nelson   at  the   Nile  ' 
I'm  Wolfe  at  Trafalgar  !     If  I  don't  go  mad 
with  it,  soon  I  shall  have  them  on  their  mar- 
row-bones !  ' 

"  You'll  have  them  pretty  quick,"  Fletcher 
interposed,  with  a  dry  smile.  "  For  they're 
coming  across  the  lawn  there." 

The  Colonel  raised  a  loud  laugh.  **  Now  to 
disinherit  that  beggar  !  "  he  cried,  with  fierce 
joy.  "Ha,  ha,  ha!  I  shall  crush  him!  I 
shall  trample  on  him  !  " 


26o  A  Splendid  Sin. 


CHAPTEPv   XX. 

HIS   TRAFALGAR. 

As  they  passed  the  drawing-room  window, 
Mrs.  Egremont's  eye  caught  a  sudden  gHmpse 
of  a  man  in  a  gray  tweed  suit,  walking  up  and 
down  with  evident  excitement,  and  talking 
loudly  +0  somebody.  His  head  was  so  erect, 
his  mien  so  soldierly,  his  dress  so  much  neater 
and  more  gentlemanly  than  was  usual  with 
Colonel  Egremont,  that  for  half  a  minute  the 
terrified  wife  did  not  recognize  her  husband. 
But  Hubert  at  the  same  second  caught  her 
arm  with  a  meaning  touch.  "  He's  in  there," 
he  whispered,  in  a  voice  of  warning,  **  Take 
them  off-  to  the  library  !  " 

Mrs.  Egremont's  face  blanched,  but  she 
gave  no  overt  sign  of  her  intense  agitation. 
As  she  entered  the  house,  she  led  Fede  and 
the  Marchese  into  the  room  that  Hubert  sug- 
gested, wiiile  her  son  w^ent  straight  into  the 
drawing-room  to  face  the  Colonel.  A  minute 
later,  with  some  feminine  excuse,  Mrs.  Egre- 
mont followed,  and  confronted  the  man  who 
had  once  been  her  husband.     As  for  Fletcher, 


His  Trafalgar.  261 

he  had  prudently  disappeared  for  the  moment 
through  the  open  window,  and  stood  watching 
the  scene  with  attentive  eyes  from  the  clump 
of  evergreens. 

Hubert  looked  at  the  sot  sternly.  "  What 
do  you  mean  by  this  return,  sir  ? "  he  asked. 
*'  Must  I  drive  you  out  again  ?  I  told  you 
already  you  had  no  place  in  this  house.  I 
shall  send  the  servants  now  for  the  police  to 
expel  you." 

The  Colonel  broke  into  a  chuckle  of  insane 
delight.  "  Don't  try  to  bully  mc,  sir,"  he  cried, 
in  a  voice  of  triumph,  "  for  I'm  not  going  to 
stand  it.  The  tables  are  turned.  I  have  you 
now  in  my  grasp  !  "  He  stretched  out  his 
right  hand  and  clenched  it  hard.  "And  I 
mean  to  grip  you,"  he  continued.  "  I've  come 
here  to  stop,  and  I'm  not  going  aw^ay  again  in 
a  hurry,  I  can  tell  you.  This  is  my  house, 
young  man  ;  it  shall  never  be  yours.  I  know 
the  truth.  I  have  proof  of  it — proof  of  it  !  "  He 
chuckled  hard  once  more,  and  clapped  his  hand 
to  his  pocket.  **  A  poet  !"  he  cried.  "A  poet! 
"  Your  ever  devoted  and  affectionate  Arthur  !  " 
Ha,  ha  !  so  you  kept  them,  Julia  ; — his  letters 
— all  these  years — you  kept  them  !  " 

Mrs.  Egremont  gave  a  sudden  wild  scream 
of  terror.  "  My  letters  !  "  she  cried,  darting 
forward.  "  My  letters  !  Has  that  creature 
seen  them  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I've  seen  them,"  the  Colonel  an- 


262  A  Splendid  Sin. 

swered,  leering.  *'  Very  nice  letters,  too  ! 
So  refined  !  so  poetical  !  " 

She  burst  into  the  boudoir  in  an  agony  of 
fear.  The  escritoire  lay  open,  and  the  drawer 
was  empty.  Mrs.  Egremont  caught  her  breath. 
A  pang  seized  on  her  heart.  Her  letters — 
those  sacred,  those  tender  letters  !  In  Walter 
Egremont's  hands  !  What  desecration  !  Her 
blood  turned  sour  at  it. 

She  reeled  back,  half  fainting.  "  You  have 
stolen  them?"  she  cried.  ^^  You  have  read 
them?" 

The  Colonel  assumed  once  more  his  jaunty 
manner.  "  Yes,  I  have  read  them,"  he  an- 
sw^ered,  grinning  joy  at  her  misery.  "  All's 
fair  in  love  and  war.  I  have  read  them — 
very  pretty  !  Such  nice  turns  of  thought  ! 
He  could  icrlte,  that  fellow  !  So  you  fan- 
cied you'd  lay  them  by  ?  Well  thumbed, 
too,  they  look !  Marks  of  tears  here  and 
there  !  Most  agreeable  keepsakes  !  .  .  . 
A  poet  !  A  poet  !  You  thought  such  a  lot 
of  him  ! " 

Hubert  sprang  at  the  man,  angrily,  as  he 
stood  there  mocking.  **  You  have  possessed 
yourself  of  my  mother's  private  letters  ? "  he 
asked,  clutching  the  Colonel's  arm. 

The  Colonel  shook  him  off.  "  I  have,  young 
man,"  he  answered ;  ''  and  I  mean  to  stick  to 
them." 

"  Oh,  Walter,  how  did  you  get  them  ?  "  Mrs. 


His  Trafalgar.  263 

Egremont  cried  helplessly,  clasping  her  hands 
in  terror. 

Her  husband  danced  about  in  a  frenzy  of 
delight,  and  snapped  his  hngcrs.  "  Dupli- 
cate key  !  "  he  shouted.  "  That's  all.  Felt 
sure  they  were  there.  Merc  prudent  fore- 
thought !  Wisdom  is  justified  of  all  her 
children." 

"  You  shall  restore  them,"  Hubert  exclaimed, 
holding  him  in  his  powerful  hands.  "  They 
are  stolen,  and  I  demand  them  !  You  shall 
not  leave  this  house  till  you  have  given  them 
all  up  !     I  say,  you  shall  restore  them  !  " 

"  I  shall  not  restore  them,"  the  Colonel  an- 
swered, unable  to  free  himself,  but  still  dancing 
with  joy  in  his  malevolent  ecstacy.  "  I  decline  ! 
I  refuse  it  !  They  are  my  wife's  letters— there- 
fore mine  ;  and  they  shall  be  read  aloud  in 
court,  and  reported  in  the  papers.  'Great 
laughter  ! '  in  parentheses.  It's  divorce  and 
bastardy— that's  the  name  of  the  action.  All 
England  shall  know  of  this  woman's  shame. 
And  yoit  shall  lose  your  claim  to  the  estate  of 
Milworth  ! " 

Hubert  held  him  in  his  grasp.  "  Give  up 
those  letters,"  he  said  sternly.  With  a  dexter- 
ous jerk  the  Colonel  eluded  him.  "  I  won't," 
he  answered,  dancing  about.  "  I'll  give  them 
up  in  court,  when  I  read  them  out  aloud  to  the 
whole  of  England,  and  show  up  this  saint  here 
in  her  true  colors.     Fine  thing,  to  be  sure,  for, 


264  A  Splendid  Sin. 

a  woman  like  her,  with  her  bastard  son,  to  go 
coming  the  ascetic  over  me  for  years,  reading 
me  sermons  with  her  sanctity  and  her  purity  ! 
But  I'll  be  even  with  her  yet  ;  77/  take  it  out 
of  her — and  then,  do  you  think  your  pretty 
little  Italian  girl  will  care  to  marry  a  beggar 
and  a  bastard  ?  " 

He  hugged  himself  w4th  wild  joy.  Mrs. 
Egremont  stood  facing  him,  as  white  as  death. 
**0h,  Walter,  Walter,"  she  cried,  "  are  you 
quite  inhuman  ? " 

Her  son  touched  her  arm.  "  You  need  not 
fear,  mother,"  he  said,  softly.  "  Let  him 
vapor  as  he  likes.  Let  him  wear  this  mood 
out.     It  won't  last  long.     The  end  is  coming." 

But  the  Colonel  continued  in  his  heroic  act. 
"  She  sees  it  !  "  he  cried.  **  She  sees  it  !  She 
knows  it's  all  up  with  her  !  I've  dispossessed 
her  son.  I  have  ruined  her  character.  Ive 
exposed  her  intrigue.  And  now,  I'm  coming 
back  to  Milworth  Manor  to  live  with  her ! " 

Hubert  advanced  once  more.  "  Give  me 
those  letters  !  "  he  said,  with  calm  persist- 
ence. 

"Never!"  the  Colonel  replied  raising  his 
voice  to  a  loud  shout.  "  Don't  dare  to  touch 
me,  sir.  I  shall  shoot  the  first  man  who  lays 
hand  on  my  shoulder.  I've  a  regiment  in  re- 
serve.   Up,  Guards,  and  at  *em  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  the  door  opened,  and  Sir 
Emilius  entered. 


His  Trafalgar.  265 

"Tut,  tut,  tut,  what's  the  matter  with  the 
man  ? "  the  great  doctor  said,  glancing  at  him. 

'*  So  !  Egremont  again  ?  God  bless  my 
soul,  what's  the  fellow  doing  here  ? "  As  he 
looked,  his  manner  changed  abruptly  from  one 
of  remonstrance  to  pure  medical  concern. 
*'  Stand  back,  Julia,"  he  went  on,  in  an  altered 
voice.  "The  man's  mad  drunk — and  worse 
than  that!  Don't  go  too  near  him.  What  in 
heaven's  name  brought  him  here  ?  " 

"My  rights!"  the  Colonel  answered,  with  a 
very  thick  sound  in  his  hectoring  voice.  "  I've 
come  to  claim  my  own  !  I'm  the  lord  of  Mil- 
worth  Manor."  He  strutted  about  as  he  spoke 
and  steadied  himself  with  a  chair.  "  I'm  mon- 
arch of  all  I  survey,"  he  went  on.  "  I  am  the 
Earl  of  Devon  !  " 

"  You're  a  drunkard  and  a  madman,  my  dear 
sir,  that's  what's  the  matter  with  you,''  Sir 
Emilius  said  coldly,  yet  with  professional  in- 
terest. "  What  you  want  is  a  keeper."  He 
turned  to  Hubert.  "  This  is  the  beginning  of 
the  end,"  he  added,  in  a  lower  voice.  "  I  sus- 
pected it  long  ago.  He's  rapidly  approaching 
a  state  of  collapse.     Alcoholic  insanity." 

"  I'm  the  Duke  of  Devonshire,  I  say,"  the 
Colonel  mumbled  incoherently.  "  I'm  the  lord 
of  the  manor."  He  waved  his  hand  towards 
the  view  with  an  expansive  air.  "  Im  the 
owner  of  the  county." 

Hubert  touched    his  mother's    arm,     "  Go 


266  A  Splendid  Sin. 

away,  dearest,"  he  whispered,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  I'll  get  the  letters  hack  quietly.  The  ex- 
pected triumph  has  turned  his  head.  He's 
going  mad  before  our  eyes.  You  mustn't  stop 
to  see  him." 

"  I  can't  go  away,"  the  poor  woman  answered 
gasping,  "  till  I  sge  they're  safe.  And  besides 
I  don't  know  what  things  he  may  happen  to 
blurt  out  before  Emilius." 

The  doctor  laid  his  hand  gently  on  the  lu- 
natic's shoulder.  "  Come,  come,"  he  said  ; 
"  you're  not  well  :  you  had  better  go  away  with 
me,  Egremont.  You're  indisposed,  I  can  see. 
A  little  rest  would  be  good  for  you." 

He  spoke  in  the  persuasive  professional 
manner.  But  the  Colonel  shook  off  the  kindly 
hand  with  an  indignant  gesture.  "  Don't  touch 
me,  sir  !  "  he  broke  forth,  with  insane  indigna- 
tion. "  How  dare  you  lay  your  hand  upon 
me  ?  I'm  a  soldier,  I  say.  I'm  an  officer  and 
a  gentleman.  I'm  Wolfe  at  Quebec.  I'm  the 
Commander-in-Chief.  I'm  a  British  Field 
Marshal.  Don't  venture  to  interfere  with  a 
Royal  Highness." 

The  doctor  held  out  one  deprecating  hand. 
But  the  madman  drew  back,  with  his  head 
drawn  down  between  his  shoulders.  He 
sprang  at  Sir  Emilius's  throat  with  a  sudden 
spring  like  a  wild  beast.  *'  Now,  then,"  the 
doctor  said,  shaking  him  off,  *'  this  won't  do, 
you  know,  Egremont.     You're  getting  ungov- 


His  Trafalgar.  267 

crnablc.  Help  mc  to  hold  him,  Hubert.  Julia, 
stand  off  :  ring  the  bell  there,  quick  !  We 
must  have  Reece  to  take  care  of  him." 

The  doctor  gripped  him.  But  with  the 
strange  adroitness  of  the  insane,  in  spite  of  his 
paralysis,  Colonel  P^gremont  wriggled  suddenly 
out  of  that  quiet  grasp,  stood  three  paces  off, 
and  drew  his  revolver.  For  a  second.  Sir 
Emilius  and  Hubert  recoiled  at  the  sight  of  so 
deadly  a  weapon  in  the  madman's  hands— for 
that  he  was  a  madman  indeed  they  had  now 
no  doubt.  *'  If  you  touch  me,  I  fire,"  he  cried, 
raising  it,  and   covering  Hubert  as   he  spoke. 

"  Now,  clear  the  decks  for  action  !  Forward 
the  Light  Brigade  !  I'm  the  General  in  com- 
mand. England  expects  every  man  to  do  his 
duty  !  " 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  At  all  haz- 
ards, they  must  secure  him.  Sir  Emilius  ap- 
proached him  cautiously  from  one  side.  Mrs. 
Egremont  shrank  away  with  a  terrified  look  at 
the  revolver.  Hubert  faced  him,  ready  to 
pounce.  But  at  the  same  moment,  Fletcher, 
wiio  had  been  quietly  watching  the  develop- 
ment of  events  from  outside  the  window,  saw 
the  psychological  moment  arrive  for  declaring 
himself.  He  stepped  into  the  room  with  an 
air  of  businesslike  decision.  "  Don't  be  dis- 
mayed," he  said  calmly,  seizing  the  Colonel's 
arm.  "  Don't  trouble  to  take  it  from  him.  It 
isn't  loaded.    /  saw  to  that.     I  took  the  pre- 


268  A  Splendid  Sin. 

caution  to  withdraw  the  cartridges."  And  he 
drew  them  out  of  his  pocket  and  showed 
them. 

The  Colonel,  not  noticing  him,  turned  round 
fiercely,  and  snapped  the  trigger  at  Hubert. 
It  gave  an  abortive  little  click — no  more.  He 
looked  at  it  curiously.  For  a  second  he  turned 
it  over  like  a  child,  astonished.  "  What,  no 
cartridge  !  "  he  cried.  Then  he  flung  it  away 
from  him  and  rushed  upon  Fletcher.  "You 
villain  !  "  he  exclaimed.  **  You've  betrayed 
me!"  He  turned  to  the  others.  "Choke 
him,  soldiers,  choke  him  ! "  he  burst  out. 
And  he  grasped  the  man's  neck  in  his  hands 
as  if  to  strangle  him. 

Hubert  and  Sir  Emilius  darted  forward  and 
secured  him.  But  the  detective  wa'-  prepared. 
He  drew  a  set  of  handcuffs  quietly  from  his 
pocket.  "  I  always  carry  a  pair  of  these  about 
with  me,"  he  said,  in  an  apologetic  tone. 
"  They  do  come  in  handy.  In  my  profession, 
one  never  just  know^s  when  one  may  happen 
to  want  them." 

The  two  other  men  held  the  madman's 
wrists,  Fletcher  slipped  on  the  handcuffs  like 
one  well  accustomed  to  them.  The  Colonel 
raved  and  blustered.  He  hardly  seemed  to 
notice  the  little  episode  now,  so  wild  was  he 
with  excitement.  "  What  does  it  matter  ?  "  he 
cried,  triumphant.  "  I've  got  the  title-deeds 
of   the    esta^  i  this  moment  in   my  pocket  !  " 


His  Trafalgar.  269 

He  held  up  his  handcuffed  hands.  "  How 
dare  you?"  he  said,  maundering.  "I'm  the 
Duke  of  Devonshire  !  I'm  the  Earl  of  Trafal- 
gar !  I'm  Nelson  at  Quebec  !  I'm  Wolfe  at 
Milworth  Manor  !  I'm— I'm— I'm  the  Com- 
mander—the Commander—"  He  began  to 
dodder  suddenly  ;  then  all  at  once  he  collapsed 
and  fell  back  on  the  sofa. 

He  fell  in  a  heap,  like  a  drunken  man.  The 
detective  leaned  over  him.  "  Let  me  take 
him  away,"  he  whispered.  "I  brought  him 
here,  you  know,  and  I  disarmed  him  when  he 
gave  me  his  revolver  to  look  at.  IVe  been  like 
a  keeper  to  him.  He'll  go  quietly  with  me." 
For  he  reflected  that  the  letters,  whatever  they 
might  contain,  were  in  the  Colonel's  pocket, 
and  that  no  other  chance  now  remained  of 
repaying  his  expenses. 

"  No,  no,"  Hubert  answered,  determined  at 
all  hazards  to  retain  the  letters.  "He  can  be 
cared  for  here.     You  need  not  trouble." 

Sir  Emilius,  meanwhile,  with  a  doctor's  in- 
stinct, had  unloosed  the  madman's  collar,  and 
was  fanning  him  with  his  handkerchief. 
"  This  is  a  hopeless  case,"  he  said  slowly.  "  He 
is  \n  utter  collapse.  Give  him  air  there,  Hu- 
bert!  Julia,  quick!  a  fan,  and  sal-volatile  if 
you  have  any !  "  He  lifted  the  Colonel's  faint- 
ing body  in  his  arms,  and  tore  his  coat  off. 
Hubert  snatched  it,  and,  searching  the  pocket 
unobtrusively,  took  out  the  packet  of  letters, 


270  A  Splendid  Sin. 

which  he  handed  to  his  mother.  Mrs.  Egre- 
mont  received  them  without  a  word,  shpped 
them  into  her  bosom,  and  rushed  off  dis- 
tractedly to  find  the  sal-volatile. 

Sir  Emilius  watched  his  patient  with  close 
attention.  "  He's  in  the  very  last  stage,"  he 
murmured.  "  Hold  his  head  up,  Hubert ! 
Suppressed  insanity,  breaking  out  all  at  once. 
I've  always  expected  it.  He's  not  fit  to  be  at 
large.  Send  Reece  post-haste  for  any  local 
doctor.  We  must  sign  a  committal  order,  and 
get  him  into  an  asylum." 

**An  asylum,"  Mrs.  Egremont  cried,  return- 
ing, and  just  catching  the  words.  "Oh,  Mill, 
is  it  that  ?  At  once  ?  At  once?"  A  certain 
womanly  remorse  seemed  to  come  over  her 
for  a  moment. 

**  It  won't  be  for  long,  mother,"  Hubert  an- 
swered, in  a  soft  voice.  "  He  has  killed  him- 
self at  last.  This  collapse  is  final.  I  knew  it 
was  coming.  Only  brandy  kept  him  up.  The 
excitement  of  the  return,  and  this  scene,  have 
finished  him." 

Sir  Emilius  was  rubbing  the  Colonel's  cold 
hands  meanwhile.  "  You're  quite  right,  Hu- 
bert," he  answered,  low.  "  He  can't  live  six 
weeks.  And  meanwhile,  he  will  be  nothing 
but  a  helpless  imbecile." 

As  he  spoke,  the  Colonel's  eyes  opened,  and 
he  stared  about  him  vacantly.  Then  he  lifted 
himself  on  his  elbows,  and  gazed  around  with 


His  Trafalgar.  271 

a  distraught  air.  "  I'm  the  Earl  of  Devon- 
shire," he  muttered  feebly.  "  I'm  Duke  Nel- 
son of  Trafalgar."  Then  he  lost  his  balance 
and  fell  back,  mumbling. 

"  Take  those  things  off  again  ! "  Sir  Emilius 
said  in  an  authoritative  voice  to  Fletcher. 

The  detective  obeyed,  and  unfastened  the 
handcuffs.  Colonel  Egremont  felt  his  hands 
free,  and  lifted  them  up  with  an  effort.  His 
eye  caught  Sir  Emilius's.  "Ha!  Rawson, 
old  boy  ! "  he  mumbled,  smiling  at  him. 
"You  were  always  my  friend,  Rawson.  Do 
you  remember,  when  we  two  were  boys  to- 
gether at  Winchester,  on  a  half-remedy  after- 
noon, down  by  the  playing-fields — "  He  broke 
into  a  fatuous  smile,  and  left  off  suddenly, 
laughing. 

Sir  Emilius  looked  at  him  with  compassion- 
ate eyes.  "  Poor  fellow  !  Poor  fellow  !  "  he 
said.  "  He's  all  gone  to  pieces  !  He  has  been 
a  blackguard  all  his  life,  Julia,  and  he  has 
treated  you  like  a  blackguard.  But,  'pon  my 
soul,  when  one  sees  him  now,  one  can't  help 
pitying  him.  To  think  a  truculent  bully  should 
be  reduced  to  iliat !  He  needs  no  asylum 
now,  my  dear.  He  won't  want  restraint. 
He's  past  any  violence.  A  good  home,  where 
he  can  be  nursed  and  tended  while  he  lasts,  is 
all  he  will  require.  Come  this  way  with  me, 
Egremont,"  and  Sir  Emilius  lifted  him  ten- 
derly.    "  He'd  better  go  to  a  bedroom,  and  lie 


272  A  Splendid  Sin. 

down  and  rest  for  an  hour  or  so.  Then  I'll 
take  him  off  myself  to  a  home  that  is  ht  for  him. 
The  collapse,  when  it  comes,  is  always  final." 

The  shadow  of  the  Colonel  rose  feebly  and 
clutched  Sir  Emilius's  arm.  He  was  smiling 
a  bland  smile.  "Yes,  I'll  go  and  lie  down," 
he  said  with  an  abortive  laugh.  "  And  then 
you'll  take  me  home,  Rawson  !  Milworth's 
looking  nice  !  Fine  boy  that  of  Julia's  !  You'll 
see  me  home,  I  hope.  I'm  a  bit  screwed,  I 
think,  and  you'll  see  me  home,  Rawson,  won't 
you  ?  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  old  boy  ;  you  and  I  were 
always  good  chums  together,  weren't  we  ? " 

He  tottered  out  of  the  room  on  the  doctor's 
arm.  Hubert  and  Mrs.  Egremont  followed 
them  silently  at  a  little  distance. 

"  Send  Reeceto  help  me  up-stairs  with  him," 
Sir  Emilius  said,  in  his  quiet  way.  "  He  must 
rest  here  for  an  hour  or  two  ;  then  Dr.  Wills 
and  I  must  take  him  over  by  road  to  that  nurs- 
ing home  at  Exeter." 

They  carried  him  up-stairs.  Outside  the 
bedroom  door  Mrs,  Egremont  broke  into  a 
sudden  flood  of  tears.  Hubert  led  her  into 
her  own  room.  There  she  sat  down  on  the 
sofa,  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  cried 
to  herself  in  silence. 

Hubert  seated  himself  by  her  side  for  some 
minutes  without  a  word,  just  smoothing  her 
cheek  with  one  hand,  and  holding  hers  w4th 
the  other. 


His  Trafalgar.  273 

At  last  he  spoke.  "  I  know  what  it  is,  dear," 
he  whispered.  "  Some  last  tinge  of  needless 
remorse — now  you  see  him  dying." 

Mrs.  Egremont  bowed  her  head.  "  The  ages 
behind  me,  I  suppose,"  she  answered,  half 
sobbing.  "  One  cannot  wholly  escape  from 
the  false  creeds  of  one's  ancestors.  Though  he 
would  have  told  me  I  ought  rather  to  feel  the 
acute  disgrace  of  having  lived  for  one  day,  as 
wife,  with  that  creature  ! " 

Hubert  paused  again  a  second.  '*  Mother," 
he  said  earnestly,  **  on  the  morning  you  first 
told  me  that  great  secret  in  Switzerland,  I  said 
to  you,  *  Thank  you  ;  ten  thousand  times, 
thank  you  !  '  Everyday  since  that  time,  when 
I  reflect  from  what  inheritance  of  vice  and 
madness  you  saved  me,  I  have  said  again  in 
my  heart,  '  Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you  ! '  Now 
I  see  him  lying  there,  where  his  own  wicked 
life  has  justly  led  him,  I  say  to  you  yet  more 
fervently  than  ever,  '  Thank  you  ! '  You  have 
preserved  me  from  tJiat ;  3^ou  have  given  me  a 
father  and  a  heritage  to  be  proud  of. " 

Mrs.  Egremont  clasped  him  in  her  arms. 
*'  I  will  go  to  him,"  she  said  slowly.  *'  I  will 
do  what  I  can  for  him.  Now,  run  down  again, 
darling,  to  the  Marchese  and  Fede  ! " 

"  I  will,"  Hubert  answered,  pressing  her 
forehead  with  his  lips.  "  For,  more  than  all, 
mother,  you  have  given  me  Fede  !  " 


Joatiy  the  Curate 


By  FLORENCE  IVAKDEN 

So8  pages y  size  7%  x^,  cloth ^  s  stamping s^  $1,00 


The  time  of  the  story  is  1748,  its  scene  being  along  the  seacoast  of  Sussex,  England. 
The  doings  here  of  the  "free  traders,"  as  they  called  themselves,  or  smugglers,  as  the 
government  named  them,  had  become  so  audacious  that  a  revenue  cutter  with  a  smart 
young  lieutenant  in  command,  and  a  brigade  of  cavalry,  were  sent  down  to  work  together 
against  the  offenders.  Everybody  in  the  village  seems  engaged  in  evading  the  revenue 
laws,  and  the  events  are  very  exciting.  Joan  is  the  parson's  daughter,  and  so  capable  and 
useful  in  the  parish  that  she  is  called  "the  curate."  She  and  the  smart  young  lientenant 
arc  the  characters  in  a  romance, — Book  Notes,  May,  1899. 

The  author  of  the  once  immensely  popular  "  House  on  the  Marsh  "  turns  in  her  new 
story  to  the  Sussex  coast  as  it  was  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century.  The  time  and  the 
place  will  at  once  suggest  smugglers  to  the  observant  reader,  and,  in  truth,  these  gentry 
play  an  important  part  in  the  tale. — The  Mail  and  Exfreis,  April  11,  1899. 

Miss  Florence  Warden  in  "Joan,  the  Curate"  (F.  M.  Buckles  &  Co.)  tells  an  or- 
thodox tale  of  smugglers  in  the  last  century  with  plenty  of  exciting  adventures  and  no  de- 
viations from  the  accepted  traditions  of  a  familiar  pattern  in  fiction. 

—  N.  r.  Sun,  May  6,  1899. 

"  Joan,  the  Curate  "  (Joan,  a  creamy-skinn  :keyed  maiden,  gets  her  surname  on 

account  of  the  part  she  plays  in  helping  her  fatl  arson  Langley,  with  his  duties),  is  a 

village  tale  of  the  smuggling  days  on  the  wild  marsh  coast  of  Kent  and  the  equally  lonely 
cliffs  of  Sussex.  The  village  is  a  hot-bed  of  these  daring  "  free-traders,"  even  the  parson 
and  his  daughter  are  secretly  in  sympathy  with  them,  and  young  Lieutenant  Tregenna, 
who  is  in  command  of  the  revenue  cutter  sent  to  overawe  the  natives,  has  anything  but  a 
comfortable  task  to  perform.  His  difficulties  only  increase  when  he  falls  in  love  with  Joan 
and  discovers  her  leanings  towards  the  illegalities  of  the  village,  and  when,  at  the  same 
time,  the  audacious  leader  of  the  smugglers,  Ann  Price,  who  carries  en  her  trade  disguised 
as  a  man,  falls  in  love  with  him  herself,  the  complications  are  almost  bewildering.  The 
story  moves  through  countless  adventures,  sanguinary  fights,  and  lovers'  quarrels  to  the 
conventionally  happy  ending  and  the  partial  return  of  the  fishermen  to  honest  ways. 

— £flo*  Ntwiy  May,  1899, 


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The  Real  Lady  Hilda 

By  B.  M,  CROKER 

266  pages,  sizes,  71^  x^,  doth,  j  stampings,  $i.oo 


"The  Real  Lady  Hilda,"  by  B.  M.  Croker,  is  a  very  pleasing  novel,  de- 
pending for  its  interest  not  upon  sensational  incident,  but  upon  a  clever  portrayal  of 
disagreeable  traits  of  character  in  high  society.  The  story  is  told  by  a  young  lady 
who  finds  herself  with  her  stepmother  in  obscure  lodgings  in  an  obscure  country 
town.  The  head  of  the  family  had  been  physician  to  a  Rajah  in  India,  had  lived 
in  princely  style  and  had  entertained  in  princely  fashion.  He  had  died  and  left  to 
his  widow  and  child  nothing  but  a  small  pension,  and  they  soon  found  themselves 
in  straightened  circumstances.  Besides  the  character  drawing,  the  entertaining 
feature  of  the  story  lies  in  the  shabby  treatment  which  the  two  impecunious 
women  receive  from  the  people  whom  they  have  so  royally  entertained  in  India, 
and  the  inability  of  the  widow,  with  her  Indian  experience,  to  understand  it. 
Entertaining,  too,  is  the  fawning  toadyism  of  the  middle-class  women,  who  disdain- 
fully tip  their  noses  and  wag  their  tongues  when  they  find  that  the  poor  women  are 
neglected  by  the  great  lady  in  the  neighborhood. 

—  The  Bookseller,  Neivr.dealer  and  Stationer,  June  I,  1 899. 
Mrs.  Croker  belongs  to  the  group  of  English  country  life  novelists.  She  is 
not  one  of  its  chief  members,  but  she  succeeds  often  in  being  amusing  in  a  quiet, 
simple  way.  Her  gentlefolk  lack  the  stamp  of  caste,  but  the  plots  in  which  they 
are  placed  are  generally  rather  ingenious.  Of  course,  in  a  field  so  assiduously 
worked,  one  cannot  look  for  originality.  The  present  book  is  just  what  the  author 
modestly  calls  it— a  "sketch,"  with  the  usual  poor  girl  of  good  family  and  the 
equally  femiliar  happy  ending.— M///  and  Express,  May  i,  1899. 


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The  Good  Mrs.  Hypocrite 

By  ''RITA  " 

28^  pages i  size  7y2X^y  cloth,  j  stampings^  $1,00 


"Good  Mrs.  Hypocrite."  A  study  in  self-righteousness,  is  a  most  enjoyable 
novel  by  **Rita."  It  has  little  of  plot,  anil  less  of  adventure,  but  is  the  study  of 
a  single  character  and  a  narration  of  her  career.  But  she  is  sufficiently  unique  to 
absorb  the  attention,  and  her  purely  domestic  experiences  are  quite  amusing.  She 
is  the  youngest  daughter  of  a  Scotch  family,  angular  as  to  form  and  sour  as  to  fea- 
ture. She  had  an  aggressive  manner,  was  selfish,  and  from  girlhood  set  herself 
against  all  tenderness  of  sentiment.  Losing  her  parents,  she  tried  her  hand  as  a 
governess,  went  to  her  brother  in  Australia,  returned  to  England  and  joined  a  sister- 
hood in  strange  garb,  and  her  quarrelsome  disposition  and  her  habit  of  quoting 
scripture  to  set  herself  right  made  her  presence  everywhere  objectionable.  For  this 
old  maid  was  very  religious  and  strict  as  to  all  outward  forms.  Finally  she  went  to 
live  with  an  invalid  brother.  She  discharged  the  servant,  chiefly  because  she  was 
plump  and  fair  of  feature,  and  she  replaced  her  with  a  maid  as  angular  as  herself, 
straight  from  Edinbro*.  The  maid  was  also  religious  and  quoted  scripture,  and  the 
fun  of  the  story  lies  in  the  manner  in  which  the  woman  who  had  had  her  way  so 
long  was  beaten  by  her  own  weapons. 

— Boohdlevy  Newsdealer  and  Stationer,  June  15,  1899. 

The  Scotch  character  is  held  up  in  this  story  at  its  worst.  All  its  harshness, 
love  of  money,  unconscious  hypocrisy,  which  believes  in  lip-service  while  serving 
but  its  own  self,  are  concentrated  in  the  figure  of  the  old  spinster  who  takes  charge 
of  her  invalid  brother's  household.  She  finds  a  match,  however,  in  the  Scotch 
servant  she  hires,  hard  like  herself,  but  with  the  undemonstrative  kindness  that 
seems  to  be  a  virtue  of  the  race.  The  book  lacks  the  charm  that  lies  at  the  root 
of  the  popularity  of  the  books  of  the  "  Kailyard"  school.  In  its  disagreeable 
way,  however,  it  is  consistent,  though  the  melodramatic  climax  is  not  the  ending 
one  has  a  right  to  expect. — TAe  Mail  and  Express,  June  21,  1899. 


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Captain  Jackman 


By  W.  CLARK  RUSSELL 

240  pages,  size  7%  x^,  doth,  j  stampings,  $t.oo 


Clark  Russell  in  "  Captain  Jackman  "  lias  told  a  good  story  of  the  strange  conduct  of 
a  ship's  master,  who  starts  out  with  a  fake  robbery  by  which  he  realizes  £\^<X).  The  ac- 
count of  his  peculiar  courtship  and  the  still  more  peculiar  acceptance  ot  his  offer  by  the 
daughter  of  a  retired  naval  commander  is  scarcely  credible,  but  it  is  readable  and  the  tragic 
end  is  not  improbable.     It  it  a  mere  short  story,  expanded  by  large  type  into  a  volume. 

— San  Francisco  Chronicle^  July  9,  I899. 

"  Captain  Jackman  ;  or,  A  Tale  of  Two  Tunnels,"  is  a  story  by  W.  Clark  Russell, 
not  so  elaborate  in  plot  as  some  of  his  stories,  or  so  full  of  life  on  the  sea,  but  some  of  the 
characters  are  sailors,  and  its  incidents  are  of  the  ocean,  if  not  on  it.  Its  hero  is  dismissed 
from  the  command  of  a  ship  by  her  owners,  because  of  his  loss  of  the  proceeds  of  a  voyage 
which  they  evidently  think  he  had  appropriated  to  himself.  The  heroine  discovers  him  in 
and  rescues  him  from  a  deserted  smuggler's  cave,  where  he  had  by  some  mischance  im- 
prisoned himself.  He  handsome,  she  romantic  as  well,  they  fall  in  love  with  each  other. 
Her  father,  a  retired  commander  of  the  Royal  navy,  storms  and  swears  to  no  purpose,  for 
she  elopes  with  the  handsome  captain,  who  starts  on  an  expedition  to;capture  a  Portuguese 
ship  laden  with  ^old  — a  mad  scheme,  conceived  ai  it  appears  by  a  madman,  which  ac- 
counts for  his  curious  and  unconventional  ways, 

— Bookseller,  Newsdealer  and  Stationer,  July>  IS,  1899. 

It  is  readable,  interesting,  and  admirable  in  its  technical  skill.  Mr.  Russell,  without 
apparent  effort,  creates  an  atmosphere  of  realism.  His  personages  are  often  drawn  with  a 
few  indicative  strokes,  but  this  can  never  be  said  of  his  central  figures.  In  the  present  little 
story  the  fascinating  personality  of  Captain  Jackman  stands  our  very  clearly.  He  is  a  cur- 
ious study,  and  the  abnormal  state  of  his  mind  is  made  to  come  slowly  into  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  reader  just  as  it  does  into  that  of  old  Commander  Conway,  R.  N.  This  is  really 
a  masterly  bit  of  story-craft,  for  it  is  to  this  that  the  maintenance  of  the  interest  of  the 
story  is  due.  The  reader  does  not  realize  at  first  that  he  is  following  the  fortunes  of  a  mad- 
man, but  regards  Jackman  as  a  brilliant  adventurer.  The  denouement  is  excellently  brourht 
about,  although  it  gives  the  talc  its  sketchy  character.— iV.  T,  times,  July  I,  1S99. 


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